


ink(penta)to(nix)ber

by runninohhoney



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Bisexual Female Character, Christmas Fluff, Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Inktober 2019, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Post-Break Up, Pre-Break Up, Recreational Drug Use, Supernatural Elements, ahh..... the unfamous tag. my Brand, day three and this already got smutty lmao, impostor syndrome but that ain't a tag, mason deserved better............ period, there's not a pre-break up tag so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2020-11-15 01:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runninohhoney/pseuds/runninohhoney
Summary: inktober prompts, but make it writing.





	1. day one: ring

**Author's Note:**

> i really hope i'm not the only one making this travesty lmao. i just felt very generally inspired by this year's prompts, so here i come. i don't know if i'll like everything that i will write, but it's best to do it anyway! i hope i can keep all of these pentatonix related, but i can't be sure of that; i'll always make sure to tag everything and point out the corresponding tags on each chapter.  
at the end of the month, i'll probably put all of these in separate works, sorted in pairings.
> 
> EDIT: i've gone through every prompt to add in the summary a couple of sentences where the word is included, cause i thought it'd be fun, ha.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kirstin/ben, set right before kevin's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"did you find anything there or what?", ben walks in the bedroom with an undone tie around his neck._
> 
> _he follows kirstie's eyes to the ground and he's met with the sparkling motion of the ceiling light on the engagement ring._

when she unfolds the dress, it falls to the ground. kirstie stares at it as it rolls in the carpet, stopping at the door frame with a soft clicking noise.  
  
"did you find anything there or what?", ben walks in the bedroom with an undone tie around his neck.  
  
he follows kirstie's eyes to the ground and he's met with the sparkling motion of the ceiling light on the engagement ring.  
  
silence sets hard on both of them, kirstie's fingers twitching with hesitation. it's the cautious look on ben's face that has her squatting on the floor to pick it up, then hiding it on a white-knuckled fist.  
  
"i forgot where i had put it", she says first, because it's the easiest part to explain.  
  
it had been such a busy week, with the halloween plans and broadway offers knocking at her door, her work schedule as tight as always. and then jeremy had pulled the rug from under her feet and she had nowhere to stand, nowhere to break and fall.  
  
so she stumbled around, smiled in every party and pretended that everything was going to be okay, and _of course i know you're there for me,_ and mornings went on in a rush of tears and memories of the life that they could have had. it was possible, in one of the many days that she still struggled to accept as part of her past, that her angry hands could have stuffed the ring inside her engagement dress.

(it's one of those ugly turns the universe has for her, she thinks, that she digged in for strength to face her old engagement dress but ended up finding the ring anyways.)  
  
it's a plausible explanation, but when she looks up at ben she feels like she doesn't even know where to start.  
  
it's hard to know if her brain is pulling a mean trick on her to make her believe his expression is tainted on anger and distrust, that the stretched silence is just the calm before the storm, that she has to brace herself in front of the person she's learned to love, all over again.  
  
but ben's hand lands softly on the arm that grips the dress, and the proximity convinces kirstie that he's not here to judge. which means that now she can see that his eyes are soft and understanding, that he won't push her because she doesn't deserve that and she deserves_ this,_ instead.

"why don't you try this on?". she looks up to see a slow smile forming on his lips. soft and sweet, to match his tone.

kirstie breathes out.


	2. day two: mindless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> scott/mark, background scott/shawn and mark/mason, set in may, 2017 (<strike>because i can't seem to drop the cheating plot point with him, i'm SORRY</strike>)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _on the other side of the door he hears shawn and mason's laughs overlapping each other._ fuck,_ he thinks. _dumb, mindless scott.
> 
> tags: Implied/Referenced Cheating, Kissing

"want help with that?", mark says from behind his back.

he turns around with his arms on the air, struggling to shrug his jacket off. "i swear it felt more loose when i put this on like, thirty minutes ago."

mark huffs, soft laugh emerging from his lips. he kicks the door shut so he actually has space to pull at the sleeves. "what's that?", he asks when scott falls silent.

"nah, it's just", he breathes out, wishes his red face wouldn't have given him away. "i'm making a fool of myself over here."

the first sleeve comes out and scott can finally turn his body to face mark. "you're not," he replies, reaching out to pull the other one, falling easily from his shoulder. "you're just getting, real jacked up. like seriously, with those guns, how do you expect these girls to come out that easily?"

scott rolls his eyes, but a traitious smile creeps into his face. a nice compliment is just the easiest way into his heart. "says mr deadly guns out there," he returns the favor. and if he slips into a lower tone, if he gauges his reaction by peering at him through his lashes, that's nobody's business.

mark flexes his arms, because of course. "gotta be careful, though", he smiles, leaning easy into the game, and scott really likes this. "any of these days i'll let my guard down and you'll take me down with those big boys", he finishes with a laugh. there's crinkles on his eyes and scott can feel his entire face relaxing, then twisting to match his expression.

"fuck, you're so", he giggles, and his hands shoot up all by themselves. there's a soft stubble covering mark's jaw, and he drags his thumbs over it while his lips land on the smiling mouth. there's a hint of smoke when he opens his own, his last cigarette of the day tainting the kiss with a rush of nicotine. he steps in closer, addicted to the feeling, and is met with two hands on his elbows. they're pulling him back, holding him from going further with this.

on the other side of the door he hears shawn and mason's laughs overlapping each other. _fuck,_ he thinks. _dumb, mindless scott._

he backs down, hands falling in the awkward space between them.

"that was a stupid fucking thing to do, wasn't it?"

mark's eyes are fonder than ever. as he looks into them, his embarrassed flush turning into something entirely different, he finds himself feeling euphoric. he wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to kiss that grin off his face a million times more.

"yeah, it was", mark says, and pulls him back in.


	3. day three: bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mitch/omc, past mitch/beau. set in march of 2019.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it’s no surprise that he feels empty, weird. it’s like his brain is detached from his body, like he has no part in this besides watching how easily he fell for the bait, how quick it took him to read one private message with advanced undertones, the kind of teasing he'd even expect from him, to throw all of the progress he’d made in a month off the window._
> 
> tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Post-Break Up, Recreational Drug Use

patrick doesn't question him when mitch asks if he can crash at his house. they pick up exactly where they left - that little grey area that ensures no commitment nor begs for a conversation - and it makes things easier, makes mitch believe everything is finally falling back to its place.

patrick knows his way around him, but as early as the undressing stage mitch realizes how deep he is on the routine. patrick doesn't run his hands along his collarbone before taking off his shirt. he braces for the impact of a toothy smile when he feels the tug on his waistband, but instead he listens to the steady breathing coming from way too many inches away from him. his thumb doesn't run circles oh his wrist as he positions himself behind mitch. he doesn't really mind it, not when he's got something else to focus in. he catches patrick confused stare a couple times when he waits for the things beau would do to him, and gives him a huff, a smile that barely reaches the edges of his mouth, and moves on.

the _ babyboy _necklace dingles around his neck with every thrust, and he deeply regrets not taking it off.

after they're done, patrick tosses the condom on the bathroom bin and then throws a hand inside of the side table until he finds a joint.

“plans for year?”, he bounces on the bed and sucks into the joint. “i know you're a busy girl.”

“we have a tour. rehearsals and all that shit. and writing, stuff like that.”

he thinks about mentioning his solo project, but he doesn't feel like fishing for compliments from patrick when the thing is barely even happening, when all the song ideas and lyrics he's written are slowly going to the bin given what has happened.

he doesn't wanna say it. he doesn't wanna think about it.

but patrick asks more as he hands him the joint, like he's trying to apologize for that.

“you're alone now, right?”

the smoke dances in front of his eyes. he tries to find his voice, and only a croac comes out.

“yeah", he says again.

“it's just, don't wanna be the side chick. you know?”

“yeah, yeah", he says, laughing this time. _not gonna happen. no one but him, _but not really._  
_

it’s no surprise that he feels empty, weird. it’s like his brain is detached from his body, like he has no part in this besides watching how easily he fell for the bait, how quick it took him to read one private message with advanced undertones, the kind of teasing he'd even expect from him, to throw all of the progress he’d made in a month off the window.

it’s all meaningless now. he feels more naked than ever, the duvet weightless and cold over his lap as he thinks and overthinks about that cold february night.

“y'all seemed to get on really well, though”, patrick insists. mitch looks down, then at the wall. he pulls the joint to his mouth, but doesn't take a drag.

“i only do edibles now. bad for the voice”, he explains, voice low and monotone. patrick takes it from his hand.

“i'm sorry, don't have those on this room.”

“it's okay. we did, yes”, he says, casual as ever. his legs start trembling, ever so slightly.

then patrick sets the final nail on the coffin of this conversation.

“why did you guys break up, then?”

(he doesn't know. but that is left unsaid.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had written this one with the intention of making a longer meau breakup fic (that i started back in march after mitch uploaded that sad love song to his ig stories) but i never got around to finish it, and then they got back together a month later, so i left the ficlet to gather dust on my fics folder. since i didn't have any real ideas for the bait prompt, i figured i could take it and give it a little twist to fit in <strike>yesterday's</strike> today's prompt.


	4. day four: freeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kirstin/ben. set during the 2018 christmas tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _She looks down at the space between her skirt and the cast, skin exposed as she can't wear proper stockings yet. “I can't feel my knees. I'm afraid they might have frozen."_

There's nothing else for her to do, other than watching Scott, Mark and Matt grip each other for dear life while struggling to keep both feet on the rink, laughter echoing in the room.It's not that she's not having fun; otherwise, she could've just stayed on her hotel room, cuddled a pillow while rewatching Game of Thrones. She's giggling at them, her jaw shaking over her hands as she leans forward to get the best view.

She feels spent and exhausted, eyes heavy under the lights, but this is fun enough that she's glad that she gave it a go and now has a first row ticket to watch their friends make a fool of themselves, be it an spontaneous after-show trip. It's kind of a shame that Ben forgot to bring his camera.

“Enjoying yourself?”, he says with a smile, sitting next to her. Kirstie accepts the coffee being handed to her with a wink and resumes watching the shit show go down.

“Very. They've fallen so many times now that I wonder if I'll have to lend them the scooter soon.”

“They would break it, too", he replies at the same time that Scott hits the ground, bringing Mark down with him as well. Matt has to grip the railing with both hands, cackling so hard that his legs slide all by themselves on the ice.

“Won't join them?”, Kirstie asks once they're all on their feet again.

Ben shakes his head. “I've never been a fan of skating. It may or may not have to do with the fact that I'm like, really bad at it.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “It's so fun, though. You don't have to be good at it. It's like dancing.”

He shakes his head once more. “It's easy to say it when you're a good dancer.”

She gasps, turning around at him. “That was nice!”, which makes Ben chuckle, eyes surrounded by crinkles. “But really. I really miss dancing”, she swings her legs over the floor, feeling the cast brushing with his thigh boot. “And wearing pants. So I wouldn't get so damn cold.”

Ben rests his elbows on his knees. “Are you cold?”

She evaluates her own body temperature. Definitely not where her hands are wrapped around the coffee cup; her upper body feels comfortably warm, cladded in various layers of sweaters; her cheeks feel hot with the big scarf around her neck, even covering the bottom half of her ears. Truth is, the place isn't even that cold, ice surroundings considered. However…

“Not really. More of, like, my legs.” She looks down at the space between her skirt and the cast, skin exposed as she can't wear proper stockings yet. “I can't feel my knees. I'm afraid they might have frozen. But I can live with this, I'm actually okay", she's quick to add when Ben's brows furrow.

“I can wrap them with this", he waves a hand around his scarf. ”If you want.”

Kirstie scrunches her nose; the only thing that she doesn't wanna do is feel like everyone has to constantly help her. Having a huge cast on her leg is a big enough reminder of all of the things she can't do by herself. “Keep it. I'm _ fine, _really.”

From the corner of her eye she can see Ben’s hands setting his own coffee on the ground, but the curiosity isn't enough to make her turn her head. A second later, her grip around the cup falters a little, and she looks down to see both of his hands covering the patch of skin, large and dry and very, very warm.

“So you're not cold”, she starts awkwardly, because the proximity is begging for some conversation. Ben just glances at her, a little tight smile on his lips.

“We can't handle losing these… damn dancer knees”. There's a weird inflection on his voice, but she can't pinpoint it. “Shiny music video knees".

“Fool", she chuckles. There's a hint of skin between his hair and the scarf, and she lays her head on the spot, just because she can. The angle could be better, but she's rewarded by the soft texture of the fabric and the sweet, musky smell of his perfume.

“Better?”, he asks in a small voice, palm rubbing on his skin. She closes her eyes around the tingles on her hips, traveling all the way up to her neck.

“Better", she confirms.

Taking her head off is Ben's cue to remove his hands, sitting back on the plastic chair with the coffee back and resting on his thigh. She finds herself missing the touch, but then Ben shifts his arm and he's leaning against her, cozy and solid on her shoulder.

She doesn't do anything to suppress the smile, lets it take charge of her entire face. “After I heal", she says, soft and intimate, “we could go skating. So I can convince you of how fun it is.”

She feels almost silly with how much she wants it: have a nice afternoon with him, running circles and holding each other, laughing until they're breathless, filled with joy and each other's company.

“Yeah”, he says. “Yeah, I would really like that.”

She leans her head on his shoulder and sighs.


	5. day five: build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, matt&scott and background scomark. set after the msg show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"It was perfect. That's what it was. The perfect build."_

Between the high buzz of the day, the rush of being in the most important arena in the world and people dragging him in tight hugs every five minutes, it's no surprise that Matt completely forgets where he left his deodorant.

He leans his head back on the dressing room's door, face scrunched and eyes pressed shut as he tries to remember where he could've put it, having given up after rummaging through his room three times. It's almost midnight and he's sure that they'll have to take the bus in ten minutes or so, so there's no time to take a shower and he won't get his spent, stinking body to a bus filled with other people. His pride won't allow it.

This morning... Kevin had offered to take their bags, and then Scott had come along to boost their hype and expectations. Kevin had handed it back to him, though. He'd still had it on when they arrived at the venue, and he and Kirstie made a little stop to laugh at the other's pictures, on each dressing room door. Scott had opened his when he heard them bickering outside his room, and Matt took it off (ah!) to give him a tight hug before they headed to soundcheck.

That was it; it was on Scott's room. He allows himself a little moment of celebration before heading out, clapping more hands and giving more hugs on his way down the hallway.

He's way past knocking on Scott's door for permission, and sneaks his head in the room to look for the man in question. He finds him sitting on one of the chairs, with his back hunched and turned towards the door. He's holding Mark's hands on his, an intimate moment he has no interest in interrumpting, nor watching. His eyes search the room for the black backpack and he's only halfway there when a hitched breath makes his eyebrows shoot up.

He looks at them again: Mark is leaning oover him, knees pressed up together, but still Matt can see Scott's body shaking at times. And then, the unmistakable sound of poorly contained sobs, ragged breathing and cheeks red and wet with tears.

And, oh, _yikes._

He tries to turn around, heart beating loud on his ears, but Mark turns his face and locks eyes with a panicking Matt on the doorway, and his entire body freezes. Scott glances up at his boyfriend and follows his gaze to the door.

"Matt?", he stands up, and he can't shake the feeling that he's doing something wrong, that he's stepped on their boundaries or, whatever. He should've just gotten a damn shower, it wasn't even so late, he-

"I'm- sorry, didn't mean to interrumpt". His thumb points right behind him as he takes a step back, feeling his heart dropping to his feet when Scott continues to walk up to him. "See you ah, tomorrow, good ni-"

"No, don't leave", Scott says, and sniffles. He's just, a real mess, with snot glistening under his nose, blue eyes rimmed with red. He takes in a breath and sobs. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure, man". Matt looks over his shoulder, but Mark's expression doesn't give anything away. He can feel the sparkle of curiosity mixed with fear settling on the bottom of his neck; did he do something wrong?

They walk back to Matt's room and he grimaces at all of the stuff scattered on the floor, the remains of his desperate searching. He drags the things around to make space for both of them, muttering a half-assed apology. Behind him, Scott's breath has started to regulate, and when he sits down in front of him he looks much more composed.

"What is it?", Matt rubs his hands together, trying to show himself as confident as usual, but he's never seen Scott so wrecked, and that's saying a lot: Scott is a naturally emotional dude, and they've shared a great bunch of tears and crying sessions together already. Scott breathes in deeply.

"I was thinking... Remember that night, when you first got to L.A. and Ben called you, first thing after you even had time to settle down?"

He nods. Might have an idea where this is headed, after all.

"I was... damn, so fucking anxious. I was in front of Ben when he made the call and when you told him to wait until tomorrow we were like, oh, makes total sense. That's what I said, but I couldn't sleep that night. I was so scared... wasn't ready to say goodbye to all of this. We had been together for what, six years? And it still felt like nothing for me. I was so hungry for more, I wasn't ready for everything to end."

He takes in another breath, and the nasality on his voice is almost gone now. "I guess, I tried to tell myself, 'Well, I have Superfruit now, I have my own friends whom I could make music with, this is not over for me', but still. It felt like the rug was pulled from under my feet. I-", he shakes his head. Matt ducks his, not knowing what to do. He decides to give him time to finish, then.

"And then, the next morning. Fuck, I was a sleep deprived mess, was I?" Matt chuckles at the memory: he was. Dark and big bags under his blue eyes, a loose grip on his Starbucks cold brew and fidgeting fingers on the cup, on his leg. He couldn't stay still while they sang in a circle. "I'm sorry if I was rude to you, really. I was so nervous that it wouldn't work out, that we'd never find a perfect match again."

"But it worked out", Matt comes in, voice soft and fond at the memory.

Scott smiles in return, and for the first time in this entire crazy day, he looks beyond happy: he looks content.

It was a cliche way of describing it, but he couldn't find another way to put it: it was magical. Pure magic. The instant conection he felt with all of them: locking eyes with Kevin to lay the fundation, hearing Kirstie and Mitch's light harmonies over the deep bassline, Scott's solo as the perfect bow on the perfect present that it was their first harmony. The five of them together, with _him,_ they had created magic.

"I remember hearing you with Kevin the first time. It literally felt like putting down tons and tons of weight off my shoulders. And when we, like, locked the harmony", and Matt nods and nods because he knows exactly what it was, "it was perfect. That's what it was. The perfect build."

He giggles at that, sucks in a shaky breath filled with the joy. "I'm not thankful enough for y'all, for every single one of y'all. For whoever that put you in front of us so we could realize that you were meant for this."

Matt presses his lips together. "Shit, Scott", he says, and he immediately gets his yelp in return.

"Yes! I made you swear!", he celebrates, and Matt rolls his eyes. Which doesn't mean he doesn't accept yet another handful of Scott's body and limbs around his torso; in fact, he even stands up so he can properly squeeze him on his arms.

"I love you, man", he says into his shoulder, and damn, did he say that he was going to cry.

"I love you too", Scott's voice cracks into it. "But please, less rough patting or I'm going to have literal bruises tomorrow."

And this, stumbling around in circles around the room while holding each other tight on a giggly back pat fight, surrounded by the mess of his own clothes and belongings, is the perfect messy ending for a beyond messy, perfect day.


	6. day six: husky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kirstie & scott & mitch, side kirstin/ben. because of COURSE this one had to be about kirstie. set in january 2019.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"That's if you're looking for another husky, uh huh", Mitch agrees. "Are you?"_

"I want a new dog."

Kirstie doesn't miss the way that Scott and Mitch look at each other from each side of the couch. It's the pros and the cons of making such a wild statement and having the most ideal view of their first reactions.

"A dog?", Scott says and he scraps his fork on the tupperware for the remains of the gravy, casual as ever.

"Yeah. A dog. Like the one you have resting on your foot."

Pascal, on the other hand, is still running around the room, looking for a place to lay down now that Mitch and Scott are taking any comfortable spots near his owner. Kirstie looks up from his paws clicking on the wooden floor and catches Mitch having a full on conversation with Scott via their eyes, and she feels a little squirm under her skin. While watching them communicate like this is both weird and endearing, it's not a comforting feeling to have them do it over a five word long sentence she'd confined to them.

"What's that", she says, breaking into a teasing smile to set a nicer mood in the room. "Penny for y'all's thoughts, c'mon."

"I don't know, I'm just", Scott looks at Pascal, whose excited tail is waving off the leaves from one of Kirstie's home plants, "-gotta spare a thought for Jessica. How will she handle four giant dogs, all on her own?"

She's not sure if they know that Ben's been taking care of them all by himself when she's away anyway, so she keeps her mouth shut.

"That's if you're looking for another husky, uh huh", Mitch agrees. "Are you?"

She pinches some pasta from Scott's tupperware on her fork. "I don't know. All I know... is that I want to have a puppy again."

Scott actually laughs at that, covering his full mouth with the back of his hand. "A puppy, with these damn wolves? Not sure if it's a good idea."

"They could just...", and Mitch claps his right hand into the other, his smile mischievous enough to put a harmless twist into the joke. Kirstie rolls her eyes, giggling.

"Well yeah, that's why I'm thinking... A husky. It's the best choice, no? So we could be that little family, I don't know."

She looks down at her lap as she chews, but she can still see how Scott and Mitch resume their wordless conversation across her body.

"I guess the question's gotta be like...", Mitch bites his lip, laying three tentative fingers on her tanned bicep, "are you okay?"

Her left eyebrow goes up. "How so?"

"Like, are you sure this isn't like, your version of cutting or dyeing your hair?", Scott steps in, bouncing once in the couch. "A coping mechanism, that's it."

"That's it", Mitch echoes, and Kirstie frowns.

"Well it's not like...", she curles her fingers on the air, unable to grasp the idea on her mind. "You don't think that I'm taking this seriously? Having a breathing, living creature on my home?"

"We know you do, girl", Mitch pats her arm once, casual enough that it doesn't feel like he's belittling her. "We're...", he leaves it on the air, eyes running on her tattooed skin. "Worried, that's all."

She quirks her head, curious at that. "About what?"

"Ben told us", Scott starts, and her heartbeat goes to town with it, "no, didn't _tell _us but, the subtext was there, so."

"...Ah."

"Yeah. You see it now?"

Well. This wasn't heading where she'd hope it'd go.

"Are you saying this is like...", she starts, eyes fixed on the ceiling light, "me trying to welcome him, with another dog? Like the ones I previously had with, uh. Like they aren't enough for him? Is that it?"

Scott and Mitch shrug at the same time, arms coming up in a defensive reaction.

"Well, no-"

"Didn't want to _say _anything-"

"That's more of your words, actually-"

"-didn't even imply that, or, whatever-"

"-but do you feel it's like that?"

Kirstie blinks at that, trying to sort out the thoughts on her brain. "No? I don't- I don't know, really."

Mitch turns the ring of his middle finger with two digits. "I mean, we don't know how serious this is."

"Don't be mean", Scott's spits out, smile all over his voice, and they break out in a coordinated laugh. Kirstie sighs, feeling like the tension has gone down by a notch.

"No, I mean- y'all deserve to know. We talked about this long and hard, we both know we're beyond friends, we're co-workers, and there's a chance this could potentially end in an awkward situation but...", she shakes the hair falling on her face. "I guess we both wanted to take this opportunity anyway, however we wanted it to be. Like, no big ties or anything. We're just, having fun, you know."

Scott mirrors her shrug with a loved-up expression on, so she decides that he fully deserves a punch on his sternum.

"Ouch! Okay, okay. That's sweet. But, in what world does that translate to 'the next step is obviously tie him down with a breathing, leaving creature for the next fifteen years'? Like, I don't wanna be a dick, but", he trails off, holding his hands up like he just hopes for the best. Kirstie blinks again, her brows tight and up on her forehead as she tries to think about it.

"Maybe we're ready to take the next step- maybe, I don't know. I don't know. I just... I feel it in my heart, okay? I look inside of me and I want another buddy in the house. It's... not much deeper than that, honestly."

"You haven't told him, right?", Mitch asks in a low voice, like it's a dirty secret. Kirstie presses her lips together and shakes her head twice.

She feels Scott's reassuring hand on his other arm, rubbing up and down, and she leans into it with a smile. "That's really sweet, though. Feeling it in your heart, like, that's real cute."

"I know", Mitch replies. "You gotta save that for those song-writing sessions. Gotta get that coin with all of these dog talking."

She chuckles. "Gonna make it my next single, just wait for it."

They sit in silence for a moment, cuddled up in front of the glass window of her new house. If she closes her eyes, just for a moment, ignores the tickle of Mitch's mullet on her shoulder, the expensive smell of Scott's scent on his shirt, then she can just travel back to the packed summer afternoons in Arlington. Talking about their feelings and coming up with new harmonies and cuddling in her shitty leather couch until the sun, dragging itself down as lazy as the days went by, disappeared below the window.

"So", Scott says. "You're getting a new dog."

"That's what it seems like, yeah."

"And it's not gonna be a husky."

She scoffs at him, but twists her head to the right side anyway. "Yeah, okay."

"And you'll put it on a cage, high up so these two beast can't step on and murder it", Mitch adds.

She purses her lips. "Sounds like a plan."

"And you'll tell Ben about this, and talk about all of this."

That's a little harder to swallow. "Okay. Okay, we will."

"Cool." Scott waves the empty pot on the air. "Now, do you have any more of these?"


	7. day seven: enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kirstin/avi (or kirstin & avi, whatever). you can only go so far with real life settings, so this is my first au prompt. hunger games au, they're both on district 5 (aka the power/energy district).
> 
> <strike>in my au kirstie gets elected for the hunger games when she's 17, if anyone wants context for the last line</strike>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _she closes her eyes, lets the enchanted melody take charge of her body and her mind. and for a small second, she wishes she was in the other side, too._
> 
> tags: Alternative Universe - Hunger Games Setting

she never has to ask him to play. it’s a matter of time until his dainty hands stop pulling the grass around his thighs and make their way to the instrument, holding it dearly against his chest, like a lover.

anyone who’d take a first look at them would describe avi’s guitar as an extension of himself, but kirstie knows that wouldn’t be the truth. for her, the guitar isn’t an extension, but a detachable part of him. he never looks whole to her until he picks up the instrument, no matter how much they see and interact with each other outside the forest.

it’s an ugly guitar. it’s got the filthiest orange shade on its body; its strings are old and strangely dissonant, like they refuse to accept the comfortable sound of a perfect chord; it has accumulated dust all over it, dirty patches that wouldn’t go away even if they were rubbed out of it for hours. and if given the option to have literally any other instrument to call his, avi wouldn’t hesitate to say no. she knows it, deep in her heart.

(years ago, he'd pushed the guitar on her lap, and she had been horrified at that. she’d made excuses about clumsy fingers, told him she's focused on other stuff. at fourteen years old she already knew there was something special about that guitar that only came out with him, and no one else. the very thought of strumming the chords made her squirm, too uncomfortable at the image of herself pulling them out of the spell avi manages to conjure every single time.

she holds the guitar close, though. so it doesn't fall and break.)

“what would you like to hear?”, he says in the quiet of the forest. she quirks her head to the left side, and thinks for a moment about how, no matter how many times he asks that question, no matter how many words he’ll sing around a smile with a side glance to her attentive eyes; he’s never once sung a song for her. the songs are for him, for the forest, for the one and only made for him that he yet has to come across.

(he’d asked, one day two years ago. “do you want to have kids?”

she was fifteen at the time, but the answer came loud and clear. “no. never.” _ not here, not now, not like this, _she wanted to add. but if she’d been raised to be something, that was to be careful around her language, her speech, the words she chooses to share with the others.

he plucked a minor chord on the guitar. “what about you”, she finally said back.

there was a stern conviction on his eyes that made her heart drop to her stomach. “yes. i would love to.”

she cracked her knuckles, another dissonant sound as a response. it felt like growing apart, that is. she told herself, _ you will think like this later. you’ll change your mind, _ the words she’s heard everywhere, but the bile raised to the bottom of her throat whenever she pictured giving the hydroelectric dam another worker to train, to exploit.)

“tell me about the forest”, she says, because what else.

he sings about the leaves, the river, the moonlight. she perks up, leans her chin on her knees, because it’s a new one and she doesn’t wanna miss a word. she glances at the sunlight on his brown eyelashes, his mouth barely open to project the lines, lips barely opening in a smile to whistle. she doesn’t think she’ll ever know another man who can whistle while smiling.

(she doesn’t think she’ll have the chance to meet a lot more people.)

as much as she doesn’t wanna get it, the song sounds like a goodbye. she looks at him, his earthy presence, at his full cheeks glowing in the sun and arms moving to bring the music alive, yet she knows he’s miles away from here. as close as they could be right now, with the headstock brushing against her shoulder with every new verse, she knows they’re drifting far away from each other.

his mind is on the forest, on the other side. over here, in the valley and the dam and the people she’s grown up with, that’s where she will always stay.

it feels like a goodbye, but she ignores it for now. she closes her eyes, lets the enchanted melody take charge of her body and her mind. and for a small second, she wishes she was in the other side, too.

(during the games, she dreams about an ugly guitar, a man with a voice as deep as the ocean and a getaway song. she wakes up with tears on her eyes.)


	8. day eight: frail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> scott/mark/mason, set in september 2018, aka the infamous mykonos vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _everything about them was weak, frail, waiting for the very first red flag to start falling apart._
> 
> tags: Pre-Break Up, Implied/Referenced Cheating

mason looks at the bottom of his wine glass and sighs.

there's kirstie pressed right against his side, her arm linked with his in a casual yet comforting manner. there's harry looking up for his approval on his discusion with the others every three minutes. there's mitch and beau waving at him from the huge fishnet on the other side of the yatch. there's luke sending him memes in the group chat, there's lindsey singing along to a song and smiling at him, there's matt grabbing his wrist whenever he laughs a little harder than the usual.

he looks at the ocean right below him and thinks about how much he'd prefer to dunk his head and his body on it, drown on the waves, than look at scott and mark sitting right across him.

he'd told himself this was the last test. it would be okay, he'd thought, surrounded by people that were slowly becoming another family to him, but his heart feels heavier than ever, cutting a hole on his chest. he only has to avert his eyes a little and they appear on his line of sight, cuddled on a way that makes his jaw tense, whispering stuff on each other's cheeks that he'll never get to hear.

miles away from home, he finds out that what he deemed _his_ is slowly breaking to pieces. he's no longer part of their late night conversations, no longer in sync with their secret language, no longer part of _them._

he hates the feeling of everyone's warm hands on him, everyone's worried eyes making contact and then looking the other way. they scream at him that they know, that the failure of their relationship is not only a matter of the three of them, but all dozen people chatting on this yatch. he knows they talk about him, he knows they've picked sides, and it makes him sick to his stomach, so angry that he can't breathe, so sad that he can't look.

kirstie rubs a thumb on his forearm at the same time that scott slides a hand on mark's waist. under the salty wind running across his face, mason feels cold all over. there was nothing to fix on the first place. everything about them was weak, frail, waiting for the very first red flag to start falling apart.

the earth keeps on moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone here once asked me to write something about the scomarson breakup. i stared at the comment in my inbox for days and finally said yes, but i couldn't bring myself to put my thoughts in place. everything about them hurts me in such a deep level that it's almost stupid, really. so here's a little thing about this, roughly a year since their breakup.


	9. day nine: swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, kirstie centered. set in june 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _just at her lowest point, when doing what she'd imagined she was born for wasn't really for her, everything had swung right back at her._

in between all of their teary cuddles, will's phone buzzes on his pocket.

"i- uh, it's laundry", he says, showing the notification screen to his friend as he stands up with an apologetic smile. "don't continue with this 'til i'm over, okay? i'll be back in half an hour."

"yeah, alright", kirstie says, and looks for clean tissues around the couch. this had proven to be as emotional of a day as she'd thought.

"hey", he says, and kirstie looks up at him. he's got a soft smile on his face, his brow pulled in a caring, motherly gesture. "don't let it get in over your head, okay, baby?"

she nods with a smile, feelings her eyes heavy with tears. "yeah, okay. go!"

he slams the door behind him and kirstie is left alone, with a half undone apartment around her and the moving van arriving in less than two hours.

she knew her heart was on los angeles, but right now, looking at the grey sky framed with its hundreds of skyscrapers, she can't remember how anything else can feel like home.

coming to the city had been scary, so damn lonely. she'd unpacked her bags and plopped on the floor, wondering how things could've gotten so badly that even the prospect of fulfilling her little girl's dream wasn't enough to keep her going, make her heart feel full again. the city was cold, the streets full and empty at the same time, her apartment weird and unwelcoming despite her best efforts to insert herself in the place that she'd always thought was her destiny.

and then life had smiled at her. given her new lifetime friends, nights ringing with excitement and love, loads from experience in every field of her life. just at her lowest point, when doing what she'd imagined she was born for wasn't really for her -and _what_ was her destiny, then?-, everything had swung right back at her.

she looks at the view in front of her, takes in the city that never sleeps, the place that gave her happiness back and showed her that she deserved success, she deserved joy, she deserved love.

she breathes in and lets out a shaky breath, and though it hurts to leave now, to finally close the chapter of the happiest days of her life, there's still so much more good things for her right ahead her path. she holds on to the promise of visiting everyone again, of filling another role on her favorite stage in the world, of taking with her the lessons she's learned and making a true home for herself on los angeles.

and then she gets up to work, because this is the city that never sleeps.


	10. day ten: pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mitch/beau, set in feburary 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _once he comes back from the cruise, mitch finds himself with the terrible prospect of two months off._
> 
> _so he starts a new pattern._
> 
> tags: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Post Break-Up

once he comes back from the cruise, mitch finds himself with the terrible prospect of two months off.

so he starts a new pattern.

he plans a weekly schedule, something he's never really done before, and fills in the blanks. family meeting in texas, day out with mom, netflix browing with anna, skin care afternoon with friends, coachella with the band. he throws himself into everything that he can, reconnecting with old friends and making new ones, strengthening the bonds he'd left to deteriorate with time.

and for the most part, it's healing. he learns new things from others and himself, finds himself in new situations that require all of his attention span and the pain gets buried on his mind, an untouched corner of his head rumbling with the energy of his daily plans.

but then the end of the day comes, and he crashes on his bed with a sad song on his mind and a cold necklace on his skin.

he'd never be as busy as he was on the cruise, and it truly feels like he'll never feel so full of love and acceptance and confidence ever again. he longs for it, searches it on everyone surrounding him, tries to find it on the new wine nights at scott's house and every night his heart drops, empty and heavy, as soon as he closes the front door.

it'll get better, he thinks to himself through those nights, a hand on his hurting chest and his eyes fixed on the grey army shirt thrown on the floor. unsure as he is, fragile as he feels, he doesn't know whether to pick it up to wash it, throw it on the bottom of the drawers or put it on, again.

the next day, he goes to the robyn show.

scott is there, and he feels a twist on his chest. he sees him from afar, an arm thrown across his boyfriend's chest and the other making exaggerated gestures as he sings with his friends, and he pulls on the thread of his leather jacket. no, he won't go there. it's one of those nights where he feels like he's reached the peak of his sociability skills, and he's not in the mood. he closes his eyes, grooves on his own, feels the melodies and lyrics on his body.

and then- _be mine_ hits a little bit too hard, and thank god it's time for the costume change. he stares at the ground as he makes his way to the bathroom, careful to circle around scott so he doesn't have to face him, face them when he feels like this. and just as he feels like he can finally breathe again, break down as the restroom lights come closer and closer, he caughts on the sight of a long, lean body. short brown hair and cocked hip with a phone on his hand.

he stops dead on his tracks, such a violent motion that beau snaps his head up, and they lock eyes.

(he traces the patterns of beau's moles on his back, later that night. runs a warm finger on his chilled skin and tears prickle his eyes, wishing they could be made for each other so beau stays the night, stays with him.)

(when he wakes up that morning, beau is gone. he hovers on the edge of the bed and sees the grey army shirt on the wrong corner of the room.)

(he creates a new instagram account, and his heart feels a little less heavy when he touches the purple circle around beau's profile photo and sees the snap he'd took last night. he lets it pass, then taps on the left to see it again. he deletes the account and opens the calendar app.)


	11. day eleven: snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know i'm VERY behind on these, but with this one i literally couldn't come up with anything... i hope this makes some sense for y'all.
> 
> gen, ot5 shenanigans. set in a near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"how long since we've done this?", kirstie asks, laughing breathlessly on the snow beside him._

"how long since we've done this?", kirstie asks, laughing breathlessly on the snow beside him.

scott pulls his head up and looks at the scenery above him. there's kevin with a mischievous smirk, stuffing a handful of snow down mitch's back and getting his surprised yelp, turning around and laughing unabashedly, mouth wide and crinkly eyes. there's matt standing on top of a snow hill, calculating the best shot from a distance to their friends. there's... so much snow everywhere, on his frozen fingertips and coat and scarf and the back of his neck. there's the red splash on the white floor of kirstie's hair, moving on the snow as she makes yet another angel. it feels like he's been smiling for hours, like they _all_ haven been, and he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

when was the last time? he doesn't know, can't remember. his life has been so full of magnificent moments, of screaming crowds and mind-blowing awards and short-term goals completed and piling one over another. he's missed these moments and he's afraid that he's taken them for granted. intimate parties on the bus, waking up in the plane to find mitch asleep on his shoulder, looking up from his plate to see avi beaming at him from the other end of the table. kirstie jumping on his back after a particularly amazing show, the soft melodies coming from kevin's cello after a long day, matt laughing so hard in the sofa that he loses his balance.

it's hard to keep it all on his mind, hard to remember everything. he squints his closed eyes and his head supplies an image of him laying in his back, snow on his coat and his scarf. kirstie's long blonde locks sparkling under the dim light as she laughs and prints her figure on the ground. avi and mitch gripping each other as they try to escape from kevin's snowballs. he smiles around it, then opens his eyes because he doesn't want to miss a minute of this.

"too long", he says looking into kirstie's eyes.

"yeah."


	12. day twelve: dragon

when avi woke up, the dragon was still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! okay, i will admit that i had NO inspiration whatsoever for this one. but the prompt did remind me of a honduran microstory i read once on my literature class, which is very famous for being so short yet so intriguing and therefore capturing the very essence of what a microstory should be. so this one is a little homage to augusto monterroso!


	13. day thirteen: ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, avi centric. set right after he moved to his wood cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _he opens his eyes and looks down at his hands, and with the tiniest bit of light coming from the half moon, he can see them tainted with ash._

the wind brings avi's hair into his face, so he carefully tucks it back in his ears.

the fire in front of him has died out, the comfortable sound of the wood crackling under the flames now replaced by the whistle of the leaves dancing in the night. not that shy away from the first day of winter, he feels chills all over the exposed skin of his arms and cheeks.

he's got his eyes closed, arms resting softly on his folded legs and hands placed heavy on the dirt. despite his stance, his lip quivers and his teeth clatter. his nails dig on the earth and his mind races.

he tries to breathe in, find peace in what is supposed to be a getaway. eyes closed like this, he feels the presence of the cabin hovering over him, swallowing him whole in a way that manages to be neither threatening or comforting, but overwhelming. it's overwhelming empty, with a mattress splayed in the living room and a guitar resting on one of the corners on the room. all of his belongings are scattered across the city, little reminders of all of the people he's lived with during the last six months. it doesn't feel right to reclaim them and bring them here, as they not feel like him anymore.

which is aiming very close to the point, and avi's adam apple bobbles when he thinks about it. who _is _he, anyway?

he's on the woods. inhale. there's dirt under his nails. exhales. there's a cabin on his back. inhale. he can smell the lingering scent of the dying embers. exhale. he's sitting down, legs folded and arms resting on top of his thighs. inhale. wind blows across the leaves, bringing his hair to his face. exhale.

he opens his eyes and looks down at his hands, and with the tiniest bit of light coming from the half moon, he can see them tainted with ash. he warms up his dark fingertips on the ground, scratching the earth to bring himself back down, and when he exhales it's like a knot unties his entire body, his soul.

he stands up slowly, arms swaying in the air. this is why he's here for, after all. the timeless landscape in front of him is the only reminder that he needs. for the first time on his life, he's got time.

he carefully tucks his hair back in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ash could only remind me of the phoenix. that bit about raising from the ashes. i think it was a nice idea to link it to the lowest point in someone's life, and this time is avi because he's my go-to when i'm looking for mental comfort. it hasn't been good, these last days. things have gone wrong so quickly that i don't know how to react, and that's a little bit taxing on the creativity department. i will finish these, though. i'll just go a little slower than intended. these do feel like a breath of air, it's just hard to find the time to focus on so many things at once. thanks for sticking with me and my inconsistent ass! love y'all.


	14. day fourteen: overgrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i HAD this one planned about mitch, and then he tweets that one photo. so now there's no way that this story isn't about them.
> 
> mitch/beau, set during their brazil shows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _he stays quiet for a little longer, hands ruffling the top of his head until it vaguely resembles a bird nest._
> 
> _"do you think she's... a little overgrown?"_
> 
> tags: Fluff

"baby?"

beau looks up from his phone and catches mitch with his phone up, pulling the strands of his hair on different directions with a small frown between his eyes. "what is it?"

he stays quiet for a little longer, hands ruffling the top of his head until it vaguely resembles a bird nest.

"do you think she's... a little overgrown?"

beau looks at the light against the little brown hairs on the top, making it look soft and welcoming. he leans forward on his seat and mitch's hand immediately goes down, a lazy smile curling on his lips.

"is it bothering you?", he asks, and lifts his own hand. mitch's eyes fall shut as soon as beau's hand teases his hair, question completely forgotten. as he runs his digits through his scalp, beau feels a tingle on his chest: it's beautiful to see him like this, all relaxed and inviting, easy smile on his lips and eyes comfortably closed. mitch hums a little when beau scratches his hair, long enough that it tangles on his fingers, soft enough to let go easily.

"like a damn kitten", he murmurs, but mitch is close enough to hear it and scoff at that. beau watches the satisfied grin on his lips and he flashes a smile to his closed eyes, his chest bubbling with affection.

"feels good", mitch explains, leaning his head back when beau's palm goes a little down, feeling the long curls of his mullet. he's suddenly aware of the people in the room: kevin on the phone with leigh, and dre bickering with matt, and scott showing a video on his phone to mark. he doesn't wanna push this too forward, but he still drinks on the sight of his boyfriend, throat exposed and lower lip falling open as he tilts his head back even more.

he pulls out, and mitch pouts a little.

"i think", beau says, back stretched as he leans in with a hand wrapped on the start mitch's thigh for leverage, "that you should keep it."

mitch's eyes sparkle. "uhhh huh."

he sits down on a more comfortable position on the chair, hand moving back to his own leg. "could shave the entire head and leave a couple of hairs on the back and you'd still look hot, so."

"no no no."

"i like it", he says, a little more serious. "'s like a little hawk, all cute and standing." he thinks about it for a while, then runs his fingers through it a last time. "my own little astro boy."

mitch rolls his eyes at him, and beau finds himself smiling so wide that it feels like he could bust his lip. "i mean it. will you keep it, please?"

mitch pulls out the camera again, pinches at the top of his head. "yeah, baby."


	15. day fifteen: legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, kevin/leigh. set in june 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"well, we weren't friends back then, but you remember it, right? the john legend song. i won it."_
> 
> _"of course i remember", she tilts her head with a smile._
> 
> tags: Crack

i'ts just one random night that leigh wakes up to a panicked kevin, gasping beside her with his hands on the air.

"kevin!", she says, and extends a hesitant hand to his bare arm. kevin flinches and looks at her, pure terror on his brown orbs. "what's going on?", she whispers.

his effusive negative doesn't do anything to calm her heartbeat down, and she lays back in bed with his arm around her and a worried frown on her face.

it's as soon as the next morning where she's opening the cabinets to find a nice-looking mug, and her pacific morning thoughts are interrupted by a crash on the floor. she brings a hand up to grip her chest over her heart, her fist on the cabinet door barely preventing her from smashing her face against the corner of the wooden piece.

she turns her face to voice her surprise to his fianceé, when she sees him just watching the coffee puddle grow over the kitchen floor with a blank stare, as if his mind is miles away from here and the loud breaking noise wasn't even enough to snap him out of it.

that's it, she thinks.

she grabs him by the arm, leaving the mess on the floor for later, and she relocates a chair so they can face each other as they sit down on the dining room. kevins glances up at her when leigh leans over, her hands carefully gripping his warm fingers.

"honey? will you tell me what's wrong?"

kevin bites his lip, shakes his head. "nah, it's just. it's the, _tiniest_ thing ever, not really-"

"babe", and kevin stops, staring at their joined hands. "whatever it is, i wanna listen to it."

being confronted like this, leigh almost forgets she's trying to be comprehensive as his cheeks start to redden, looking more embarrassed than anything. "jeez, leigh, i didn't wanna bother you with this..."

she resolves to putting a little more pressure on him, so she looks at him with firm eyes from under her lashes. kevin sighs.

"okay. it's just... remember the lip sync battle?"

she forgets about being cautelous and her eyebrows lift all by themselves. "the _what?_"

"well, we weren't friends back then, but you remember it, right? the john legend song. i won it."

"of course i remember", she tilts her head with a smile, limbs relaxing over the chair. he _won_ it, right? so it couldn't be that bad. he could've been kissing girls left and right during that time for that matter -not that he'd ever would-, she didn't care at all. a frown goes back to her face when she thinks about how open they were about their previous romantic partners, and how okay they were with that. what is he gonna tell her about this that she doesn't already know?

"i... got a little intimate with chrissy, you know?"

her grip on his hands falters a little. "...how so", she says, and she can't help the venom making its way to her tone.

they told each other everything, right? so what is this new information, randomly brought to her a year later?

kevin sees the change and his jaw falls, mouth forming a perfect little 'o'. "no no no- that's NOT what i meant. i mean, what we did on stage, dance and all. what i'm trying to say is uh, we- i didn't even, thought of it that much- it was on tv, i barely even remember rea-"

"hey hey, slow down." she can't help but laugh, tension leaving her body yet again. "i _know_ what y'all did, i watched the whole thing. it was sweet! you looked so cute on that suit, though, who could've resisted you?"

kevin twitches his mouth, completely ignoring the compliment. "i could've chosen a better wording?", he supplies.

she nods. "indeed", but gives his knuckles some friendly pats. kevin sighs, shoulders hunched again.

"nah, the things is... i never really talked to john, right? like, i sent him a you know, a direct message being like, 'hey man, i did your song on your wife's show and i won', and he thanked me, chatted a little about it. but we never, we never really mentioned it."

she blinks a couple of times. "mentioned what?"

kevin bounces his head from side to side. "eh, you know. the whole chrissy thing."

she tries very hard, but only a blank tone comes out. "that y'all danced on tv for five minutes."

"yeah, exactly! and i didn't think about asking, but now i'm thinking... maybe when i saw him on the grammys party and he didn't even, like, he waved a hand at scott, but not _me,_ so maybe. maybe he's still angry at me?", and his voice actually _breaks,_ and it's too much.

leigh breaks into little giggles, then a snort that has kevin moving back on the chair, then a proper belly laugh and then a straight up cackle at him, head thrown back and the start of tears in the corner of her eyes.

it takes her two minutes to calm down, and when she's reduced to high pitched inhales she eyes kevin, who just looks like the perfect mixture of annoyed and amused with his pursed lips and small frown.

"eh", he starts. "what was that?"

"oh, honey", she says, and the last giggle escapes from her lips. "you're too good for this earth, i swear."

she leans in and kevin is more than happy to press a light kiss on her mouth, short as ever because she can't keep herself from smiling at how stupidly adorable his soon-to-be husband is.

"he's not mad at you, babe. he doesn't care. and you shouldn't either." she gets up, placing a hand on her hip and sticking his arm out for him as kevin goes through all five stages of grief in two seconds.

"ah."

"cool", she says, a bright smile back on her face. "now, will you call the hotel staff to tell them we accidentally broke a cup?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looking at the tags i was like, how come i'm half the month in and i haven't written anything about kevin???? so this is it. i saw the word legend and i was like "ah, it _has_ to be kevin", and then spent the next two days having no idea of what to even write about. and then i thought about kevin's recent tweet to chrissy asking her if he needed to "run for his life" for what he did a year ago. so, bless john for his last name.


	16. day sixteen: wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, sort of? kirstie/taylor. set around early 2018.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"you're a wild one, aren't you?", taylor's boyfriend says, and turns taylor's head around to peck her ruined lipstick._
> 
> tags: Bisexual Female Character, Kissing

it's not a rare occurrence that kirstie ends up in taylor's lap sometimes. in fact, it happens quite often: between drinks and shots and lyrics pending in the air, she'll always fall on someone, grip a shoulder to get steady, smile at the friend behind her, ready to help her whenever she needs it. it's comforting, cute, even.

eskimo kisses, sure, she's done those. just one, just one, they tell each other, because the makeup. right now, taylor's hand releases the grip on her waist and creeps softly to cup her cheek, tilting her head to rub the tip of her pointy nose against kirstie's. she looks into her eyes, and kirstie squirms under it on a way that feels unsafe, abnormal.

mouth kisses, though. they've never done that. not until know.

it's almost a natural thing, to fall into the perfect trap of taylor's soft cheekbone and slide into her lips, just a peck. just a little taste of it, she tells herself and then taylor's smiling, laughing with closed lips to keep the contact. she feels cheers around them, a pat on her back that pulls her back to reality. she concentrates on the pair of hands touching her that really matter, that _only_ matter to her: taylor's pinky brushing her ear when she cradles her cheek, acrylic nails digging on her hip over her dress. she pulls the hem of her skirt down when she leans in, careful of the people watching them, because pretty much everything else that she does is careless.

taylor is eager to respond, opening her mouth at the first tease of a tongue dipping on her painted lips. she tastes like tequila, kirstie vaguely thinks when she slides her tongue on her mouth. she presses a hand on her own thigh, the other one deep on taylor's blonde locks so they don't tremble on the air.

it's not... it's not okay, she thinks. it's desperate, the bubbling feeling on her chest and pull on her stomach that she hasn't felt in years. parts of her mind are in a tug war inside her head, and she wants to sprawl herself in the couch above her and stand up and run away, all at once. the playful lick into her mouth both ignite something in her and turn it off.

it doesn't last long enough, it goes on for way too long. taylor's hand hovers over her shoulder and kirstie leans back on her legs, lips clicking as they part. she climbs onto the sofa next to her, forcing a laugh out of her chest.

taylor pulls the hem of her dress over kirstie's thighs and she's thankful that she's half facing the wall, thankful that the rush of heat that washes her is kept in the shadow of the room for a couple of seconds.

she plops on the sofa with a leg under the other and taylor goes back to her boyfriend's lap. kirstie looks away from her satisfied expression, masking the hurt away as she smiles at the collective cheering.

"you're a wild one, aren't you?", taylor's boyfriend says, and turns taylor's head around to peck her ruined lipstick.

kirstie nods and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me so long to come up with something that wasn't a straight up pwp thing for this prompt, really didn't want to scare y'all away after the previous one. so here's a little thing i've had in my head for some time.


	17. day seventeen: ornament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, scott & mitch. a little college au for y'all! and yes, they were ROOMMATES.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _scott hangs it next to the car tree. the ornament is just stupidly bigger than it, but mitch thinks that it could look alright on a normal sized christmas tree._
> 
> tags: Alternate Universe: College/University, Christmas Fluff

the second day of november falls on a boring sunday and gifts mitch the first clouded sky of this fall, rare as usual in sunny LA. he blinks at the window from his bedroom, eyes adjusting at the white light coming from across the room. after putting on his glasses, he has a perfect view of scott with both knees in a chair, tongue on his upper lip as he places a decorative tree on the frame.

"good morning", he says without even glancing at him.

it's not the first time he greets him today, as mitch had declined his invitation for a morning jog -a _jog,_ who did he think he was?- hours ago. he knows scott shifts into a christmas mood as soon as halloween is over, doesn't even wait to take off his costume to whisper _merry christmas! _on his ear mid hug, and it doesn't really bother him anymore. as a normal wait-after-thanksgiving-to-play-my-holiday-playlist guy, mitch has learn to tolerate and roll with it.

this, though? yeah... a little too much.

the green, flat pine would look and smell much better inside of a car but here it is, whirling around its own cord while scott stills his hands on the air, ready to catch it if it refuses to slow down. but the tree gives a final twirl to the other side and stays on its place, and scott lowers his arms with a satisfied sigh.

"so, mitch", he says, and mitch pretends he hasn't been watching this shit show go down for the last two minutes, "what do you think?"

against the white sky on the window, the tree looks almost black, small enough that you wouldn't even notice it unless you're looking for it. the rest of the room is a mess as usual, scott's skeleton costume thrown right below the window from friday night along with their clothes of the week, books and notes everywhere near the start of the exams season.

"it's... depressing, that's what it is."

scott twists his lips, and mitch feels a little twang on his chest, guilt running on the start of his neck.

"well", says scott, "it's only the start of november. we still have time."

"that's right", mitch says, and leaps out of bed before he can say something meanier.

on november the 5th scott looks at him from the edge of his calculus book and mitch braces himself.

"does cara still have those fairy lights on her room?"

mitch tries to cleanse his mind from the math formulas, scavenging his brain for recollections of her friend's room. he hasn't been there for a while, though.

"i think i saw them on her instagram stories, yeah."

"cool", scott says, too casual.

mitch purses his lips.

"we're _not_ gonna steal them from her."

"no, not _steal__, _that's a big word. she could have them back after new years."

he sighs and scribbles another solution on his notebook. "we can buy some ones for ourselves after the 15th, okay?"

he gives him a steel look from across the room, and scott squirms under it, pulling a string of his ugly christmas sweater.

"yeah, okay."

on november the 11th, mitch comes home with an early gift.

he has to wait for scott to finish his advanced english class, and his head finds home on his arm for half an hour, the little golden thing hanging from his fingers. when he wakes up, scott is looking down at him, a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake.

his eyes jump from his face to his own hand, and his jaw falls open when he finds it empty.

"looking for this?", scott asks, and jingles the gold ornament on the front of his face.

on the beat of silence that he takes to register that his surprise has been ruined, mitch hears _all i want for christmas _coming from scott's phone. oh, does he hate him.

"you weren't supposed to find it, yet."

"it's perfect", he says, and mitch is not sure if he's actually choked up or he's just playing it for mitch, but it still makes his chest burst with pride.

scott hangs it next to the car tree. the ornament is just stupidly bigger than it, but mitch thinks that it could look alright on a normal sized christmas tree. he doesn't even try to hide his fond smile when scott looks back at him, evaluating his job on the window.

"no fairy lights?", he jokes. or at least mitch thinks he's joking.

he shrugs. "couldn't find any but, any of these days i'll get them on target, so."

he's half expecting it when scott throws himself over him, and mitch gets a hand on his back, laughing softly when scott squeezes his small frame on his enthusiastic arms.

"merry christmas, i love you", he says on a small voice, right over mariah carey's final adlibs.

he gives in, pressing his cheek on scott's sweater.

"love you too."


	18. day eighteen: misfit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, matt centered. and some ot5 stuff!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"i don't know, it's like", and a smile toys on his lips as a way to ease up the knot on his throat, "you guys really don't see that i am... kind of the misfit?"_

matt gives in and does the only thing he was explicitly advised not to do, and he looks at the youtube comment section.

he stops tensing his shoulders once he scrolls on the most popular ones, generally commenting about the song and their vocals on a simple yet positive way. he founds some other comments about him, and even when they talk about how much they like his voice or his smile, he can't help feeling his stomach turn at every single mention of his name.

and then he gets the ugly ones. not as popular as the others, but still hold a worrying handful of likes. they're filled with replies underneath, and he hovers his finger over the number before backing away, and hopes and wishes they're defending him.

he lays on bed with the phone on his chest and a frown between his eyes, heavy with sleep as the night advances and they remain wide open.

and then, it's not only the mean youtube section.

it's the unsatisfied huffs coming from outside the recording booth, ben's frown and hand on his face trying to cover as much of his disappointment as he can while matt's arms nervously shake to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

it's the wrong step that leads him to crash with mitch on choreo rehearsals, and then watching his contained eye roll that sends a paralyzing chill to his spine.

it's scott with his hands up as they sit in a circle, dragging his chair closer to matt to hear if he's on key. it's the tortuous loud scratching of his movements on the floor, harmonizing with the fear crawling on his stomach.

it's him laying on his stomach on the couch while he slowly falls asleep and hearing kirstie talking about him, about his voice, his place, and then waiting anxiously to hear their badmouthing over his pounding chest. (it never happens, but the prospect is enough to wet his eyes for a bit, breathing slowly through his mouth so they don't realize that he's awake.)

it's the general awkwardness of being the new guy, even though months have passed since he moved in LA and into the group, even though they announced him as an official member a couple of weeks ago. even though he wants this more than anything else in the world.

so he kind of expects it when he gets into the recording booth and there's no ben on the big rolling chair. instead, there's four pairs of concerned eyes, four pairs of nervous hands and feet tapping on the ground, scattered all across the room. his heart drops to his stomach.

_this is it,_ then. "heeeey, guys", he manages. of course they'd want to tell the news themselves, instead of sending some RCA guy to pat his back and ask his signature somewhere. he kind of expects it, yes, but still the fear and the _want_ inside of him fight their way out, crawling on the back of his throat.

he sits down then, hoping that it helps to ease the crash of their announcement.

"matt, we've...", kevin holds his hands up, using his _i'm-doing-a-speech _voice and matt refrains from pulling a face, "been noticing that there's something wrong with... all of this."

"not you, obviously", interjects kirstie, but matt can't help but feel like it's cheap, like it's a white lie. "more like, the way all of this has been working out. we feel like you're not giving us everything, your 100%, you know what i mean?"

"actually", scott holds his hand out, "it was ben who called us. told me how you'd been on the recordings and said, something like 'he doesn't sound alright to me, you guys should talk to him', so here we are, yeah."

"and of course we want you to do your 100%, to be the best because we know that this isn't it. and we just wanted to know, what's wrong?", kevin claps his hands, his warm brown eyes too much for matt to keep staring at them.

matt pushes his lips together, glancing at the ground and the four very different styles of shoes surrounding him. this conversation could only end in two ways and he doesn't like any of them: either they agree with him and go through the cumbersome process of announcing his departure and looking for a new bass again, or he opens up to them about his insecurities and he ends up being not only the new guy, but the _be-careful-with-him _guy, and has to endure thousands of worried eyes on him and then millions when the fans eventually catch up on his attitude and the group and crew's disposition for him. and screw that, screw all of that. why couldn't it all be as simple as _i am the right choice?_

he claps his hands together, throat tightening. he's going to tell them the truth - what else?

"no, yeah, it's just... i know it took a lot of time to you know, pick a new one for the group, but are you...", he waves his ways around and briefly catches the way a few eyes squinted at the idea, "are you sure that you chose the right one?"

scott's face actually drops forward and it's almost hilarious, but.

"we've all been in this group for seven years", mitch says, tone high as his eyebrows knit together. "we _know_ we chose right."

"yeah, not to brag about it or anything", kirstie says, breaking in the first genuine smile since he got in the room, leaning her weight towards mitch and taking the tension down a notch, "but we did a pretty good job."

"why... why do you think we didn't? is that the problem?", scott says, his frown as prominent as ever.

matt suddenly feels dumb. is it really that hard of a thing to communicate to them? he feels the rush of anxiety every time he works with them, and he feels rewarded on his fear when they acknowledge his inadequacy, when slowly but surely he realizes that maybe this wasn't for him after all, that sooner than later they'll tell him to sign his way out and he's been preparing himself for this exact moment, but then. but then _this_ is happening, and he shouldn't be listing all the things he's been half-assing since he got the place, shouldn't he? they should know. they should know.

"i don't know, it's like", and a smile toys on his lips as a way to ease up the knot on his throat, "you guys really don't see that i am... kind of the misfit?"

it's a beat of silence, and then the room explodes.

"a misfit?", kevin almost yells, blinking slow with his brows high on his face.

"not what we were thinking of at all-"

"-never been a problem for us, we-"

"-could've mentioned it to us, right, we should've-"

"-don't feel like you _belong?_ matt!"

it's the sudden noise that has him growing smaller on his seat, but the words bring his eyebrows together, confused at their reaction. isn't this... isn't this the part where they agree and say their goodbyes? he raises his gaze just to find a variety of expressions he'd never thought he'd seen: confusion, hesitation, wariness, _anger._ his mouth falls open, unable to grasp his head around the current events.

"-because if you feel inadequate", scott is saying, not even to _matt, _"-but we didn't even, we wouldn't- it's not, matt", he finally turns to him, "have you ever fucking listened to how we sound together, all of us?"

mitch nods, right hand on his mouth and left tapping an increasingly messy rhythm on the chair. kirstie leans in with both hands wrapped around her knee, and matt sees that she's slightly shaking. god, what is even going on?

"you don't-", he starts, completely ignoring scott's question. "you don't think there's somethig wrong with, with me?"

"no, matt, we don't", says kirstie. she trembles a bit more.

_oh. _"...ah."

well, this is awkward, his head helpfully supplies. there was... never ever a problem to begin with, then. matt looks at his sweaty hands, breathing in to compose himself.

then, scott raises his hand. "wait. did you, for any reason, check the youtube comment section?"

matt blinks, mouth falling agape once more. how does he...?

"not really, i...", but it's a lie and he sees it on the way that kirstie and mitch lean their heads to the right side - it's almost scary. "yes."

mitch slaps his knees, and next to him kirstie stops shaking. "that's it", mitch says, eyes falling on scott and kevin as they nod solemnly.

"and that was like, two weeks ago?", kevin asks, just casually hitting the nail on the head. matt doesn't even need to say anything: he stares at the floor with a loose jaw, hands falling on his thighs.

"so that's it", scott drags out, more to himself than anyone else. "we should've seen it coming."

next to him, kevin nods. matt feels like he's not in the room anymore.

"um, what?", he tries.

"we learned pretty quickly that we shouldn't really be fishing for those, uh, meaner comments, if we wanted to stay focused", mitch says calmly, balacing his body in the chair.

"but it's been... it's been a lot of years", kirstie says.

"right, so we've forgotten. we should've... should've told you at some point, it's just...", and mitch waves his hands around his head.

"we should've told you", repeats scott with a hand on his mouth, with what suspiciously sounds like a pout.

this isn't... yeah, this isn't what he had imagined at all. what... what was all of that about, then? was it a couple of comments on a stupid youtube comment section that flipped a switch on his head? was it just overfeeding the fears he already had, the ones he promised not to worry about?

"actually", matt finds himself saying, "a couple of people told me. eh, some of my friends, and then ben when i got here, so. yeah." he raises his hand, flush creeping on the back of his ears. "i'm guilty, i guess."

kevin nods, eyes closed and hand on his chin. scott claps his hands and spares a look to the other silent, still members of the group.

"welp", he says, turning his blonde head to meet matt's eyes, "intervention's over, i guess?"

"i'm sorry", says matt, helpless. he knows time is not something on their side - they could've used these ten minutes to record something for the new album, but here they are. reminding matt of a lesson he should have already learnt.

kevin stands up, walks up to matt to drop a hand on his shoulder. "not your fault, man", he says, softly enough that matt feels his throat tightening again. "we've all have our days. we've been long enough on this process, that we've forgotten what it's like to be the new guy."

mitch nods, and says the last words before they all exit the room. "and we haven't been fair to you, kind of."

when he sees _guilt _on their eyes, his heart skips a beat. he can't come up with anything to say. he looks up to kevin between the shuffle of the chairs moving, stares into the comfort of them, and hopes he understands.

a squeeze on his shoulder says way more than any words can convey.

(it gets easier, after that. he catches ben with glistening eyes on the booth, hands pressing the headphones to his skull like he can't get enough of it. he steps on mitch's foot on rehearsals and he makes him laugh in return, gives him a piggyback ride to the other side of the stage and when mitch tightens his arms on his neck it feels natural, it feels good. he looks at scott scrunching his face when he nails the bassline and it swells his heart with pride. he gets lunch with kevin and they talk about arrangements for hours, until he's the one giving ideas with ben in front of the piano and gets to see kevin enthusiastically nodding as the songs start taking form. he falls asleep on kirstie's shoulder on the bus and when he wakes up, a cramp on his nape and a new blanket over his shoulder, it's with a too-good pain on his heart, looking around and realizing that he belongs.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always think of matt admitting his fear of losing opportunities because he feels like he won't live up to them, and hell if i wouldn't use that for a wholesome ot5 fic.


	19. day nineteen: sling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mitch/beau but from beau's pov? it's more likely thank you think! set near the middle of march 2020.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the singapore sling he grabs and puts in front of him is tall, bright red and sparkling where it meets the soft glow of the candles of the table. just this one last drink and he's done._
> 
> i know a took a very long hiatus - but here i am, several months later and kinda determined to finish these before inktober 2020 comes around.
> 
> tags: Implied Sexual Content, Post Break-Up

beau usually doesn't mind sharing his girl nights with other people, but usually also means that sometimes he _does_ mind. and this is one of these nights. he knows the unspoken rules, knows that he just needs to lock eyes with molly from across the table and then it's as easy as getting up and going home. but fuck it, the stay-at-home orders are making this the last time he'll go out for a drink for the next few months - and he's gonna spend his _birthday _quarantined, what the fuck is up with that - so he stays for a little longer.

at least travis is... somewhat good looking.

not his type. not with the shaggy beard, the run-down shirt that he wears with no elegance or grace whatsoever. he's the kind of ratty white guy that girls on instagram would love if he were a vlogger, beau thinks. if he isn't one already.

travis was the name of one of mitch's exes. he'd laughed, eyes crinkling when beau went down through his instagram and listed all of his traits based on his profile. he had say stupid things, and they didn't make sense and he didn't even believed them himself, and he would've done nothing differently because that had meant that mitch was curled on his side, out of breath and red-faced and gripping his bicep under the sleeve of his shirt. he was beautiful, then and always.

beau grimaces at the same time that he feels a tug on the empty space of his chest. maybe it's a good idea to leave, after all. he can see molly with her face pointing at him, ready to catch the sign that he's going home. but the waiter finally comes to the table, places what is beau's last round of drinks before he goes home. the singapore sling he grabs and puts in front of him is tall, bright red and sparkling where it meets the soft glow of the candles of the table. just this one last drink and he's done.

he could try it, though, now that he's staying. pay some attention in the table convo, listen to the words coming out from travis' thin lips, tinted red by his strawberry cocktail.

"and was he any good?", he waves a dainty hand and alexandra nods, then tilts her head to one side.

"not the _best_ i've ever had, but it was fiiiine", and she earns a round of laughs. beau leans back on his chair, and travis' eyes follow the movement.

"what is it?", beau asks, casually.

"about, um, fucking celebrities", travis murmurs around the rim of his glass.

"okay, but that was like, an _influencer. _everyone's an influencer these days", molly interjects.

beau still feels a little bit lost. about celebrities doing what?

"yeah", laura adds, leaning forward in her crossed arms. "pretty much the same thing if you'd fucked like, any of the people in this table."

ah. _fucking _celebrities.

"nah, girlies. i am a musician", beau steps in, throwing an arm in the back of the chair.

"well, get in line, hon!", laura replies, eyes wide in exaggerated offense that she doesn't really feel. beau blows her a kiss.

"look who's talking, now", alexandra comes in. and immediately flinches. if beau knew better, if he _cared,_ he'd imagine the end of molly's pointy heel clashing against alexa's ankle. but he doesn't, not with the way that travis leans in over his drink, dark and curious eyes falling on beau's face.

"whoa whoa whoa, what's that? you've fucked a real celebrity?"

beau extends his leg under the table where he knows molly won't kick it. because he can feel her eyes on him, can see her too-still face from the edge of his visual field. and he won't look at her, not yet. he downs the first quarter of his drink.

"ha. i've dated one", he says, then.

"fuuuuck, that's great!" travis brings to hands around the goatee surrounding his lips, too excited to notice the way the other three girls have freezed on their seats. they know, beau had told them a few days ago. _it's been a week,_ he wants to tell them. _it's been a week and i've been handling this just fine._ instead, he keeps his eyes on travis' worn down facial hair.

"not an A list then, right?" travis mirrors beau's position and puts his elbow on the back of his chair to face him, and that actually makes beau bite in a smile. "i had an, um, a friend- no, my sister's best friends' drug dealer, look how _far_ we're talking about, hah, she'd told her she hooked up with some boyband member back in 2015. or whatever they call those all-male groups right now, whatever."

"are you telling me she hooked up with harry styles?"

"nah. if it'd been that, i would've _known, _like. i would remember it now."

"like harry styles doesn't have enough hooking up rumors in LA by now..."

beau forces himself to smile. in the table, the napkin in front of him is tainted in the red light, where the candles' glow clashes against the red liquid of his drink. two thirds of it, now.

would love to be part of those rumors, he wants to say.

"d'you know pentatonix?", is what he ends up saying.

he could've easily gotten away with the secret. with the grief. travis had moved on from the topic, head resting in his collarbone where he's facing and smiling at beau's friends. well, there's no going back now.

"fuck yeah, man. my mom loves them", and then his eyes widen almost comically. "wait- no, _really?_ shiiiiiiiit, that's dope! who did you fuck? the girl, the brunette?"

beau breathes out another laugh. it's as airy as it is uncomfortable, and molly's stare becomes even more suffocating, but beau stares stubbornly at the napkin.

"dated, not fucked", alexa breaks in after a second of silence.

"right, dated, sorry. didn't seem like your type? or like, the hunky blonde? or the small one?"

molly's head finally moves as she jerks her chin at travis. "man, you're literally missing two other people there."

"fuck you, i know 'em all! kevin's my mom's favorite. everyone knows kevin, right?"

the drink is half empty now. or half full? beau looks up where travis now has his chin placed on the back of his hands, swaying in his seat as they discuss how hot kevin is, mouth wide when he laughs at laura's comments. yeah, definitely half empty.

"well, i'm gay, so," beau shrugs and travis rests a scruffy cheek on his hand as he turns to him - yikes, that's one patchy beard right there. "that narrows it down a little."

"so the twinky brunette, then?", travis raises an eyebrow, pausing to lift his glass and take a sip.

beau mirrors the movement and silently cringes at himself. wow, was he really that easy to read.

"that's it, yes", he exhales.

_"ohh, _that's good! he's good, great fucking singer right there." beau catches himself nodding along, and he hopes that the embarrassed flush that creeps into his cheeks is mostly hidden by the lack of good lighting outside of the bar. "and like, between you and me..."

beau raises his eyes and immediately frowns. he doesn't like the teasing sparkle in travis' eyes. they look out of place in his face, all warm and rounded right over his narrow nose and thin lips and that dreadful excuse for a beard surrounding them. beau blinks at the realization. it's his _eyes _what bug him. very nicely shaped, reminding way too much of... no, he won't think about it, he _won't._ only a third of his drink to go.

but travis continues, and he's drunk enough to not see his face journey or to not care, "...homeguy looks like he gives _mad_ head."

beau opens his mouth. _what the fuck?_

"don't be a fucking asshole", laura says then, but when she swings her purse over the table to smack him on the face it's playful, and travis isn't hurt, and he just laughs in return, leaning back on his seat and drifting the attention away from beau. he takes a second to silently thank her.

"nah. you're right, though", he says, refuses to look further the bottom of his drink. when he puts it down, he feels composed, slightly more powerful at the round of surprised eyes on the table, all on him. "he really is fucking great at, eh. singing."

this is the first time in the entire night where travis laughs because beau wants him too. not a bad smile, if he ignores the goatee. yeah, _definitely_ not his type.

those eyes, though. beau looks away.

"seems like your type, i'd guess", travis says around a smile. like he just fucking read his mind, but it _can't_ be that, and this is what they're talking about after all. somehow. one week into being single again and two minutes away from beau getting up from the table.

"what, 're you sad about it?", he teases. _flirts._ he hasn't done it in a while - but he still likes it, the way travis' eyes yet again run over the tanned skin of his biceps, nothing hidden by his tank top, a testament of the eternal summer of california. his tongue caught on his teeth. it won't lead to anything, but beau enjoys the power and the ego boost while it lasts. and damn, the sling isn't drinking itself fast enough.

"fuck off, man", travis replies instead, eyes dropping to his own drink. "this is... fucking crazy. my mom dragged me to see 'em, what, last year? i think so. at the fucking _forum,_ man! ha, were you there?"

beau was there, indeed. it had been a chaotic day, between small conversations with the in-laws and a huge last-minute cake that the birthday girl didn't quite get to taste and the buzz of doing a show in the biggest venue of the state. mitch had been beautiful: perfect on the stage, soft afterwards. they'd walked hand in hand when they left home at the end of the day. he still remembers the exact taste of mitch's mouth, darkened by the shadow of beau's face and the low lights of their bedroom. the soft slide of his hands over mitch's skin, pliant as ever. the necklace he'd took between his teeth, smiling and teasing and so in love.

an entire month full of bitter conversations and poisoned words, and a week later he still could only remember the good days.

"yep." beau pops the 'p'. he doesn't know what else to say, doesn't trust his voice to spit out a full sentence that he won't really mean, anyway.

"so that was recent? shit", travis' hand lands on beau's shoulder, and he lets the touch sway him to the side, feels the heat of his palm on his exposed skin. "sorry, man."

he shrugs. "it's alright." and it is. there's only a drop of red on the bottom of his drink. still, lazily, he takes his time to finally look at molly from across the table.

he knows he had to, but the sad pull on her eyebrows makes him wish he could've only stood up and fucked off from there. he pulls a face, closes his eyes in a gesture that he hopes communicates her that he will be alright through the night.

laura has restarted the conversation with a forced smile, not fake enough to confuse travis as he immediately replies to her quips, and beau sits up and gathers his legs closer to him. if he sees a hint of regret on alexandra's hunched shoulders, well. it's none of his fucking business.

no one says anything when beau stands up and leaves without muttering a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it definitely feels weird writing from beau's pov but i did it because it was a nice change from the other narrative points of view and i enjoyed it! bless google for letting me know that sling was also the name for a cocktail because there's no chance i could've come up with anything soon if i used the most common definition, lol.


	20. day twenty: tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, kirstie centered. i've always wanted to try some cool magic subplots w them, so here it is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _there's not a beat to take everything in, not when she looks down at the tread of her shoes where the dirt is barely visible. she knows that it's taking her back, she knows that it's time to leave._
> 
> tags: Magic

it's day 46 of the quarantine when kirstie goes for a run.

if she's counting the days - because it _doesn't matter, _it won't mean anything, because there's not a real countdown until the day the city reopens and she can walk without fear and fly to texas to give her mom the embrace she's been anxiously longing for -, it's only because it's part of the routine. wake up at ten. take turns with ben to make breakfast. cross the date with a marker on the calendar. work out for an hour. make lunch. take the dogs for a walk. as of late, lounging on the little pool outside until the sun sets. it's routine, and it's home, and it makes her feel like she's got a hand on the wheel.

the running, though, that's not on the routine. she wakes up at eight that morning, glances at the way ben is draped over her body like he has been for the last 45 days, puts a caring hand on the top of his head and decides that she needs a change of pace. running it is, then.

it's quiet out, not too hot just yet. she settles for a pace that allows her to breathe and take in the scenery, waves at her neighbors from the distance. she's lived in this house for three years now, yet barely knows her way around the neighborhood. the route from her home to downtown, where she'll choose between her friends' places, a fast-food chain or the airport, that she knows by heart. the other side, though? still a mystery for her. well, not for long.

as she uncovers more new territory, she begins to forget the path she had taken to get there. kirstie refuses to let it mess with the steady beat of her heart; it's as simple as taking out her phone and asking siri to give her the route back home. right now, the trees hover over her head, swinging with the dry wind like singing a lullaby that no one else is supposed to hear, save for her. kirstie smiles, slow and contented. she's a city girl, has always been and will always be. but nature envelopes her like she's always been hers, like she's calling her back home. from the salty wind riding the waves on the ocean near the shore, to the birds chirping in the overwhelming quiet of the forest, she's always felt it inside her, the minute she forces every thought out of her head and basks in every detail surrounding her corporeal existence.

if it weren't for the luring spell that was taking over her mind, kirstie would've realized that there was way more trees than sunny, arid LA was supposed to have. that she had yet to be met with the start of the hill that she could see everyday from one of the windows of her living room.

she realizes, eventually. there's not a voice inside of her, not a pull willing her to continue to tread over the evergreen leaves falling from the trees, too tall to be growing in this climate. nothing but her own curiosity, and then the twist in her heart that longed for more of _this. _and if kirstie knew anything about herself, she'd be wise enough to trust her instincts.

so she walks ahead.

there's no chirping birds hiding in the trees, which leaves her with the calming sounds of branches cracking under her sneakers, the sway of the trees that sounds too much like the sea to ignore it. there's other noises appearing as she leaves the trail behind, but something inside of her tells her that it'll take one look back, one wrong step, one corner and she'd be back in sunny, dry LA again. so she keeps walking.

eventually, the trees start to disappear, and ahead of kirstie it appears. a field, and a sky, reaching every part of the scenery that kirstie dares to look at, light blue and faded yellow meeting in the horizon. kirstie drags a hand in the air near her knees, where the top of the dried plants flutter against her skin, softly.

and there she runs.

there's no grace, no rhythm to it. she laughs, unabashedly, throws her head back and spins on her feet, arms attempting to stretch as wide as the scenery does around her. infinite.

she laughs again, and only then finds about the lack of pressure in her throat. curiously, eagerly, she tries a few words, a variety of tones. it's like an instrument, detached from her body yet still in her control, in her almighty control. her smile widens at the range of possibilities.

she spends minutes, hours, eternities finding out how hard she can stretch it. it makes her a little dizzy how high she can take it, a whistle ringing pleasantly right between her eyes, getting higher and higher until she can only feel her mouth vibrating at the sound, and then she can only guess that it's still there. she takes it low, lower than she'd ever dared to dream, rumbling in her chest and her entire body, the tips of her fingers, the ends of her eyelashes. until it's lower than she'll ever be able to hear, only knows she's there because her throat trembles with it. she entertains herself in the middle, belting with an ease that simply can't belong to a human body, voice thickening and thinning out, covering a pallete of sounds she'd dared to crave only in her dreams.

there are no previously known melodies in her head, but there are sounds that ripple in her heart when she teases her mind there, then drop out of her, spill from her mouth like she has no control over them. she lets it all out, smiling at the sky - at the grass, letting the songs into the air around her, voice tackling it all like it's meant to be: clear and ringing highs that evoke the whistling of the wind, gritty lows that shake the earth within her. she sings and she sings, and she's not breathless, she's not exhausted, so she keeps going.

and then, it stops.

kirstie spins around. there's not a beat to take everything in, not when she looks down at the tread of her shoes where the dirt is barely visible: dark brown, a third color on this infinite landscape. she knows that it's taking her back, she knows that it's time to leave. there's only a hint of hesitation on her step when she takes the first one, then the second. she feels it on the beat of her heart, how the forest wants her back, wants her to return home.

once the path beneath her shoes becomes the soft grass and branches she had long forgotten how it'd felt like, it overwhelms her. the scenery, this entire situation. the gratefulness at whatever gods let her have this magical moment. she lets a tear spill on her cheek, seal her lips shut before it falls of her chin. she places a hand on the tree nearest to her, looks up with blurry eyes. _thank you, thank you, _she thinks.

the forest hums back in response.

it doesn't take long until the trees start to disappear, and kirstie feels the irregular dirt below the soles of her foot. the start of the hill. she hugs herself, smoothing her hands over the chicken skin of her arms. the thrill running along with her blood has disappeared, so she knows she's safe to dart one look behind her. there's just the dirt, the rocks leading to the top of her beloved hill. she smiles, her right cheek stinging with the memory of the thankful tear that rolled down in her face some minutes ago.

"hey siri", she says. there's the pressure on her throat, back to remind her that she's human. kirstie pauses and hums to welcome it back. "show me the way home?"

it's nine past ten when she arrives. it only takes her a glance to see that ben is laying on the same position as he was an hour before, surrounded by the quiet snoring of their dogs. it's her turn to prepare breakfast, but she has something to do first.

when she sits down on her homemade singing booth, her heart doesn't spill like it had done on the field, not close by a long shot. but something clicks on her head, on her chest, and when she lands the tip of the pen on the paper, she knows she'll be here for a while.


	21. day twenty-one: treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, kevin & matt, set around the summer of 2017.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"hi, i'm matthew sallee and this is treasure."_

ben sends the list to all of them, and scott nags him on the group chat to take a look. so kevin sighs, ignores the irregular beat of his heart, and just does it.

he doesn't know what he expected, but right in front of his eyes there's a regular work e-mail, names written on a list on alphabetical order. _how long do we have to listen to these again?, _kevin thinks, and the last paragraph of the mail put the deadline in september. alright, so that gives him plenty of time.

there's hyperlinks in each of the names, and kevin hovers the mouse click on them. it's just a little past eleven, and kevin knows that if he starts watching them now there's no way he's going to bed before three am, so he doesn't click on anything yet.

the thing is, this feels severely anticlimactic. when avi told them - told _him - _that he wanted to leave, it was like the entire world as he had known it up to that moment started crumbling down. when kirstie had first announced in the group chat that ben was heading closer to gathering a list for them, he'd lost his cool as well. avi leaving was like losing a limb, like lounging in a boat in the middle of the sea just to find out that the other side was empty and surging forward, just as his weight began to pull him down and into the traitorous waves.

but this... this is just a work e-mail. he's gotten loads of them on his lifetime, and will be getting even more in the future. he scrolls down the list of names, then up again, and his mouth draws in discontent. he really hates how impersonal this feels, how there's not even a photo to accompany the list, nothing to give him a clue of what these people trying to get the free spot in the group even look like.

how had it been for the trio, back in 2011 and weeks before his life took the most unusual twist he never could begin to imagine? it's not like he doesn't know the story: scott tells it to the audience every night, as kevin smiles with his cello on his hand and lips pressed together to stop himself from mouthing along at the speech that he knows by heart. and it's not the same situation by any means, but kevin likes to believe that it had been just a tad more intimate than reading a list of blue names on an empty, professional e-mail.

his eyes stop right at the middle of it. _matthew sallee (mattsalleemusic). _kevin squints his eyes, tries to scan on his memories anything that has caused him to randomly latch on the name. struggling to understand why does it sound so familiar.

the chair creaks loudly when he leans back to peer at the clock on the side wall: okay, it's just a quarter past eleven. his hand, just a little clammy, grabs the mouse again. he will allow himself to watch only one video.

the youtube page that the link redirects him to takes only just a little longer than necessary to appear on screen, giving kevin plenty of time to lean in his desk and breathe through his nose. the first thing he notices? there's a blue highlight on the thumbs up button. kevin's jaw falls with an audible click: he's _watched _this video before. and he _liked _it.

then, a voice comes in, deep and youthful and triggering all of kevin's memories in a fraction of a second.

"hi, i'm matthew sallee and this is treasure."


	22. day twenty-two: ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look. i'm not one to really write scomiche fics anymore? i've written a few over here and i consider that more than enough. i've also been in this fandom long enough to lose interest on the typical friends-to-lovers dynamic that you can get from the shippy side of things, and i honestly don't want to be associated to the branch of fans that continue to write scomiche fics because a) two conventionally attractive white guys kissing hot, and b) most of them treat scott and mitch like a whiny twink/hunk dynamic they've _never_ been and it's a blatant proof of how little respect they actually have to them as people who've grown up and chosen to live their lives in a different patch than fans would expect (aka... two real life people doing whatever they want) so like lol? why are you so pissed about that? sorry i'm rambling. BUT, all of this said... i've had this prompt in my head since i kinda became a fan and honestly it's a great chance for a more crack-y fic and i'm taking it before anyone else has to ruin it with stereotypical, unnaccurate portrayals of what you think these two guys should be. so, without further ado...
> 
> scott/mitch (kinda but not really), set in early 2017.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"what if that's the problem? i mean, that the ghost's an homophobe", scott says then, like it makes all the sense in this world._
> 
> (y'all?? this is the longest prompt i've written so far. enjoy 5k words of this madness.)
> 
> tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Supernatural Elements

it's three weeks of random open cabinets, the tv turning on at way-too-early in the morning with the remote nowhere to be seen, the yellow glow of the open fridge when mitch goes to take a piss in the middle of the night, misplaced objects that have made scott trip around the house more than necessary, until they begin to accept that this might be something _else _going on.

after they run out of excuses - i think i left this open from where i got cereal in the morning?, technology in this house is acting UP, maybe i just assumed that the door shut after i left (_sorry), _don't mind me i'm a clumsy girl -, scott lets the word _ghost _slip out, and he doesn't quite nail the comedic timing, which leaves mitch with a familiar prickle under his skin.

out of _all _the bad things that moving out to new a house could bring to them...

so mitch wraps two casual arms around his own torso, returning scott's attempt at a relaxed smirk from where he's sitting down in one of the lounge chairs.

"it's always fucking ghosts with us", mitch laments, because otherwise he'll start crying.

scott doesn't suggest to try with the ghost hunting app, and it helps. he looks cautious, like he usually does when he knows mitch is getting moody. mitch doesn't mind being an open book to him: he generally wears his heart on his sleeve, but there's something about scott knowing about the anxiety curling under his skin and making him hyper-aware and jittery that gets him to be slightly uncomfortable in his presence. he _wants _to be tough about this. like whatever, it's a fucking ghost, no big deal, he's been through enough haunted hotel rooms to stop really worrying about it.

this, though? it's their _home _that they're talking about now. and this is the longest break they've had since what, 2014? he wants to enjoy it, supernatural beings be fucking damned.

"swear to god", he talks again before the silence can be broken by an action that neither of them have planned to do, "these fucking ghosts are hunting us because they're homophobic assholes."

scott doesn't return the smile, doesn't even huff a laugh - he just gets a hand to support his cheek, his _big_ thinking head, as he stays quiet for a couple of seconds.

"what if _that's _the problem? i mean, that the ghost's an homophobe", he says then, like it makes all the sense in this world.

honestly? mitch is tired of pretending that any of this is normal. maybe he still doesn't really _believe _he's being hunted - maybe he _did_ forget about opening a cabinet door at some point before going to bed - but if he's gonna pretend he does it, then he's gonna do it wholeheartedly.

"why d'you say so?", he asks, conversational.

"'cause, uh. the other day, that the window like, opened all of a sudden? i was jer- watching some porn, and-"

"-tm _fucking _i, dude-"

"-you _know _what kinda porn it was, so."

mitch actually thinks it over. it's not like there's times where he's especially gay - he just _is, _and so is scott. flamboyant, drama-loving, female-pronoun calling, LA beach stereotypical gays. and they weren't going to stop anytime soon.

still... "but how can we _know _for sure?"

scott interrupts the broken rhythm of his feet on the wooden floor to get up and start pacing around the room. the change does nothing to lessen the urgency wrapping around mitch's chest.

"if it's a ghost, in this area in LA, then it's most likely some... some fucking homophobic boomer, right? it makes _sense _to me, at least."

an unconvinced hum is the only reply mitch has for him. he can't help but feel like he's overreacting, like scott took the worried frown between his eyes like a race to find out which one of them gets the worst conclusion about whatever is happening on their new home. they have a new tour leg starting a month and a half from today - he needs to delve on this rest, needs his anxiety to retract down a little when he tries to get used to days and nights of doing nothing before throwing himself back to work. _when _else, then?

he almost breaks down when he sees scott's feet stepping on his space, and the hand on his elbow is a little warning before scott throws his arms around him - but then he doesn't, and mitch raises his eyes full of questions at his face, before he locks them with his stare, full of a different _intent. _mitch frowns - what the hell does this mean? - but there's enough uncertainty about everything in this that he makes a real effort to hold in a laugh, pressing his lips shut together instead.

scott's hand travels down his forearm, grasping his fingers in a hold that is awkward because they lack practice, because they never really do _this,_ and mitch has to put all of his energy into keeping a poker face. until scott leans in with the soft kind of look that he puts on when he's trying to be charming in interviews, and - and _leans_ in, stopping a few inches to dart sideways, to drag his lips softly on the skin of mitch's cheekbone.

and woah, what the fuck?

and then there's it - the sliding door leading to one of the balconies shuts in a swift motion, and the click is violent enough that it causes mitch to yelp, jumping in the air, and scott steps back with his eyebrows high on his face and an expression that doesn't promise anything good.

"i think that proves it", he whispers, and mitch's eyes widen in realization.

"fucking hell", he mumbles around the feeling of his heart tumbling down, the floor disappearing under his feet, the echo of the glass of the door still rumbling from the impact a few feet away from them. "we need a plan."

they get coffee first. of course they do.

scott drives them on his truck, even though the starbucks is a five-minute walk away from the front door, but he still manages to catch mitch off guard when he turns the other way, ignoring the directions of the GPS' voice until he stops in the fourth starbucks of the route. mitch makes an enourmous effort to _not _overthink it, but, but- what if he's testing the waters? trying a new place, as if this is the foreshadow to them moving yet again to another area in LA? the little neighborhood where kirstie and jeremy live, that's a nice one, and it was actually on their list when they started looking at homes. but fuck it, he _chose _this house. he and scott, they both chose it. and the house chose them back, or whatever. he's stubborn enough to feel a sting on his eyes when he thinks about leaving the house; they didn't even get to live there for half a year?

"we're not moving", scott says, then, and darts a look at his side. he hands mitch his drink - whoa, he had already ordered them? when? - and he silently takes it, nodding once with a face that hopes translates the relief that crosses through his body.

"but we might", mitch says, because he needs to be open to the possibility. aim high, fall hard, or whatever. he needs to aim a little lower.

"but we might", scott concedes. he pauses to slurp his own drink. "but like, that's our _very _last option, right?"

mitch pretends to think it over. "what about dying?"

"okay. dying is our last option. _if _we even get the choice."

_"jesus fucking christ", _mitch mutters, because he won't die in the hands of some homophobic fuck who refuses to let their rotting soul be buried deep in the dirt where it belongs. like, this is the kind of shit he had to worry about when he was fourteen and closeted and paranoid at the thought of anyone finding out about his sins, _not _when he's 24 and hot and famous and pretty fucking satisfied with his life at the moment, thank you very much.

"but anyways", scott waves him off. "if we stay, then it's _him _who we're kicking out."

"or her", mitch adds with his lips around the straw, because he's annoying like that. "or _them."_

scott pays him no mind, knows to hold off from a witty comeback when mitch is getting stressed. "so that means we have to like, scare him away."

"and how will we _scare_ a fucking ghost?", mitch snaps, but it's sadder more than anything else.

"i was thinking", scott continues. he heads on the road back home, driving considerably slower. mitch wonders if he'll park the car somewhere, if the fifteen-minutes long ride turns out to be insufficient to calm them both down. "if you were a ghost, an homophobic one, then you'd be alright with, let's say, heterosexual PDA, and all that. it would never give you a reason to snap and do, like, ghostly stuff, okay?"

"okay", but mitch isn't sure he is following.

"okay. so when you're an homophobic ghost and what you're seeing everyday is two guys be like, romantic and sexual with each other, that _sure _is gonna rile you up. not in the good way."

mitch actually chuckles at that.

"i don't like where you're getting at, scotty", he then says, a little more somberly.

from the corner of mitch's eye, scott tilts his head in a defeating gesture. "it's that, or moving out."

mitch still is not sure of what _that _is. threesomes, foursomes? blasting lady gaga and sophie at all hours? mitch swapping places with shawn (or whatever other guys scott is fucking) and letting scott and his lovers do the job? "not sure we're on the same page", he lets out, the sentence turning a question when he hesitates at the end.

"it means", and scott takes a wide turn, his eyes focused on the road and hands just as mechanically steering the wheel. "are you okay with, like, us kissing?"

mitch makes a face.

"is this alright?", scott asks from under him.

mitch tries to sneak his arms around scott's shoulders with less awkwardness and more passion than he'd usually do, firmly ignoring the rattle of the windows' glass that is not produced at all by the wind.

he texted scott a list with the places he can touch without asking, he _knows_ if this is alright or not.

unless he's expecting an answer that goes beyond discussing what are they allowed to do to show this fucking ghost that they're happily in love, but this really doesn't seem like a good time to go on and on about how hyper sensitive and on-the-edge he has been for the last four days and how little progress they've seen to be making about it.

so he just settles for the obvious answer. "yes", he breathes out, and tries not to jump when he brushes his lips against scott and one of the cabinets shuts with a violent thud.

there are many way in which all of this is almost good: mitch likes a good makeout sesh, and scott is a competent kisser. if he ignores the several objects reacting to the ghost's rage every time they do this, and the simple fact that he's not in the mood for any of this, then it's good. it's not like he doesn't already spent plenty of time cuddling in scott's lap or with his blonde head on his chest while they watch a movie. if they can fool hoards of teenage girls and a handful of clueless interviewers and members of various crews, then they can fool this incorporeal piece of homophobic shit.

which they _do, _but it's not enough to get him out of their house. and mitch doesn't want to think about what the next step is.

because right now, with his legs spread around scott's thighs on the couch, hoping that he passes his terrified expression for a look of lust while he makes out with scott, they're clearly running out of options.

spooning scott on his bed is as close as he gets to actually enjoying this little acting stunt they're pulling out, because it means that they're finally in the dark and his face can contort to show the uneasement he's been dealing with for the entire week, and because this is the intimacy he's used to. mitch doesn't mind frenching his friends here and there, but when their only audience is an invisible creature who has to be convinced that this isn't a platonic gesture at all, then it kinda loses the entire point of it.

"how high is 'having sex' in the list of things that we definitely won't do?", he whispers with his index finger tapping on scott's sternum. he's _very_ glad that he can formulate this question without looking at him at the face.

mitch feels when scott shrugs, because he's got an arm drapped over his chest, duh.

"well, a fuck's a fuck, no?"

he feels his own lips draw in a grimace. "but be serious with me", he pleads.

scott turns around in the bed, so mitch withdraws his arm to drag it close to his chest. it's not like he can _see _scott's face in the darkness, but there's a glint of one of his blue eyes, courtesy of the little light that comes in from the blinds.

"i don't think i can have sex with you", scott says, and mitch knows he's being honest. he kinda returns the feeling, in some way: the last time they hooked up they were teenagers, horny and lonely and wrapped in misscommunication and self-doubt. that for sure is not going to be a nice reminder, if they choose to put on a bigger show for their little homophobic ghost.

_speaking _of the devil, the blinds spiral in the air and clac against the window, like mr won't-rest-in-peace is getting bored out there. serves him well, mitch thinks, and darts forward to smack the loudest peck on scott's lips that he can manage.

"so, between moving or fucking, it's moving first", mitch clarifies. scott's head moves in agreement. "good. 'cause we need to try another strategy."

"it's only been four days though. don't rush this, girl."

_only?! _"scott", he whines. there's a cute guy in his dms waiting for a confirmation of a first official date. they _have _to be over this soon.

"marry me, maybe?", scott says, and he's only half-joking.

it could be a good idea. homphobic boomers combust at the mention of gay marriage. and that's all that mitch manages to think about before he loses his train of thought- scott's hand takes hold of the fingers settled between the two of them in the mattress, threading them together in a way that, _okay,_ he'll admit it now in the dark, makes him blush. it's not his fault that scott has taken all of their PDA very seriously, when mitch is mostly used to cracking up as soon as they get closer than he'll usually allow. right now, when he's tired and dozing off if not a bit nervous, it does wonders to tighten something in his stomach and make his mouth fall with no intention whatsoever of saying anything.

"fuck, then i have to get you a ring", scott says, smooth and romantic as ever.

they _could _just fish into mitch's forgotten jewerly drawers and pick the flashiest, engagement-like ring they could find, but mitch is actually pretty on board with using one of scott's fat paychecks to get himself some massive diamonds.

"fine, let's do this shit as gay as we can, _fianceé",_ he says, but the squeeze he receives in his hand is soft as ever.

scott practically kicks him out of the store when he's buying the ring, and it's only a bit embarrassing. it's fine, because it gives mitch the liberty to finally snort at the way the sales guy had looked at both of them, then leaned in to ask, "who's the lucky lady?"

and since when did anyone take a look good at them and immediately _didn't _catch on who they were? like, are we sure we're still in the bay area?

he types the situation as a little story time for his twitter, right before he remembers that there's no way that he'll find a way to explain to his audience why scott is buying a ring in the first place. even if he said it was a prop for a superfruit video, he knows the fans' guesses would not be that far away from the truth.

god, was he tired of fan-servicing the shit out of their friendship. in a good day, he usually doesn't mind, but this entire week has been far from _okay._

and when in rome... when where they ever gonna find some time to record a new superfruit episode?

thankfully, scott walks out of the store with a beaming smile and an elegant bag dangling on the air, before mitch can fully drown himself on self-pity.

in the car, he sets the little bag right behind the console, and mitch would be lying if he said he wasn't dying to open it and try the fucking ring on.

"what are we gonna call him?", scott asks, all sunglasses and eyes on the road.

that gets a squint out of mitch. "who?"

"the ghost? not charles, i hope."

_not _charles. lol, mitch eloquently thinks. has it really been that long since that episode? the answer is yes, of course.

"charles is a gay icon, honey", he says, closing his hand on an exaggerated gesture in front of his face. "she'd _never."_

"she'd come and join us, that little queen."

mitch smiles, putting an index finger on his bottom lip like he has any intention to actually think this through.

"what about donald?", he ends in a deep chuckle.

"donald the duck", scott adds. and it's not that he's particularly worried about this, but mitch is glad that their forced romance didn't mess with their chemistry at all. it's just great to find pleasure in the stupid forth-and-backs that they've always done.

"some fucking white-ass bread name?", scott suggests.

"like _we're _not white", mitch mocks.

"half-italian."

"half-italian", he concedes with a smirk. "an older chad? fuck, i'm burnt, i'm bad at this."

scott circles his head, like he's physically trying to chase down a thought. "...br-bernard?"

"god, _not _bernie."

"fine, jesus. better with harold? homophobic harold."

mitch twists his lips at the idea. it's not bad, but... "fuck, can we agree not to humanize this bitch in any way? no names", he clarifies, hoping that he sounds frustrated enough to not to scare scott away.

"hmm", scott says, turning right on the corner of their street. "okay, then no names for the homophobe."

"it's what she deserves", he finishes off, grateful. his delivery is great, as always, so scott laughs again as he pulls up on their home.

the little bag is impossible to ignore, all white and elegant right between their seats. scott takes it and gives him a side smile. "want me to open it now?"

there's no point in keeping the surprise, anyway. "yes", mitch says, and unbuckles his seatbelt.

the little box inside contains what is pretty much what a quick google search of "engagement ring" would show to you: double band, crystals covering every bit of the silver. and then, a huge stone in the middle, a deep hue of blue when scott sways it from side to side.

"so it matches with my eyes, because you love them", he adds, and to his credit he looks like he's _trying _to hold in a laugh.

but mitch - he suddenly feels sad. worn, tired. because this is the closest he's ever gotten to getting proposed to, and it's coming from his best friend while he tries not to lose it, in his truck where he can still see some remnants of the chick-fil-a drive-through they had a couple nights ago. and because he will enter his home, the only place where he feels like he can be 100% himself, just to yet again put on an act for a supernatural being who refuses to let them live their lives as they've always done.

"what's it?", scott says, smile dying on his lips. mitch presses his lips together and shakes his head no. he's... he's mostly _angry, _actually.

"i really wanna be over this soon", he says in a crispy, monotone voice.

_it's only the sixth day, _he can almost imagine scott answering, but what he actually gets is a hum in agreement, and scott's pale hands letting go of the ring to grasp the steering wheel again.

"okay", he agrees some seconds later. "okay. we'll try and make this the best attempt we've ever done."

mitch can see that he's trying, even though they both know this is not on their power at all. he manages to pull a tight lipped smile on his face, and then picks up the ring from the console and slides it on his naked fourth finger.

"al_right", _he tries to inject some life to his tone again, "let's get this over and done with."

one of their cereal boxes tumbles and falls from the kitchen counter when they walk through the front door hand in hand, and mitch makes a conscious effort not to reply _and good morning to you too, asshole._

scott follows mitch to his room, where mitch immediately takes off his shoes and jeans, because of course.

"then what's the plan?", scott mouthes to him.

mitch remembers the conversation they had in scott's bed two nights ago, and for a second he wishes they'd stayed in the car for a little longer to discuss their resemblance of a strategy better. there's no use coming back now, and mitch is in it to win this time. "we're gonna push all of those buttons, honey."

it's not like making out while he's on his underwear is anything truly different to what they had been doing for the past five days, but when mitch sits down and pats the space in the bed right beside him, there's got to be something new in his face that makes scott's eyebrows shoot up.

"ahhh", he says like he understands, and maybe he does, but there's no space for a confirmation before scott bounces on the mattress beside him and gets his mouth on his like he's never done before.

and everything about this feels somehow new: the hand skimming below mitch's shirt to scratch the skin of his love handles, the handful of blonde hair that mitch fists on his hands a little harder than he'd usually go for, the tongue that appears way sooner than planned. mitch can only guess that the ghost is getting more pissed from the background noises growing scarier than he's mildly used to, but it feels distant now. right now, the only thing he can truly focus on is the dark pupils in scott's eyes, big as ever as he pulls himself in a sitting position on the headboard and drags mitch along with him.

and _okay, _it's not like any of this comes as a surprise. hooking up, even when young and scared and insecure to the core, had been the easiest part of it all, and mitch had enjoyed it until he didn't. it's been years from those afternoons in arlington, but it's _also_ been days from his last date and he's only human. so, if the heat pooling on the low of his stomach as he lets himself go is anything to go by, then _surprise surprise,_ he's finally fucking enjoying this.

whatever. scott is objectively hot. there's a ghost voyeuring on them. he has an engagement ring on his finger at the premature age of 24 years old. none of this makes sense.

in fact, he's mostly forgotten about the ghost part until one of his expensive coats goes flying across the room, just barely missing his head. mitch pulls back with a wet smack - ew - and looks behind him, dumbfounded. _that _has never happened before.

_"not_ the balenciaga", he whines, and scott tightens his fingers on his thighs.

after that, it's just muscle-memoring his way through their stunt, all frenetic and messy and totally inspired by the fact that it finally seems like they're making some progress here. it feels like talking about it with scott, kinda, when he bites and pulls the skin of his jaw _(hello did you see that?) _and scott presses a smile on the side of his face and runs blunt nails on his back from under his shirt _(fuck yeah i did)._

so it's sort of natural that he ends up feeling scott's hard-on brushing his thigh, even more when he's halfway there himself. but it's a different story when scott drags his fingertips across the patch of skin right above his underwear.

"can i?", comes the question before mitch can truly think with his head again and remember why this is a bad idea.

_except_ that it's not, because the bit of silence where he pretends to think about it is filled with the whooshing sounds of curtains and blinds swinging on air, and that thud might be one of his floor lamps falling on the carpet. and it's the scariest shit mitch has ever heard, which means that they _have _to be hitting a nerve there, and he wants this to end more than any other thing he's ever wanted in life.

it's that, _and _the fact that a hand to soothe the pain of his erection is more than welcome, which gets him to mutter, _"yes."_

scott goes as far as cupping him through his pants before the glass of his sliding door explodes.

it's the sound of the crystals shattering, and then scott yelping and mitch yelling _holy SHIT, _and then, the silence.

"are you okay?", scott asks, and mitch wants to say no, but he knows what he means. he sits back on scott's knees, ignoring the bulge on his gray jeans while he scans his own arms in search for cuts and blood.

"yes", he mutters. holy shit, was that intense, and mitch is shaking all over when he leans his back to confirm that most of the glass is within a six feet ratio around the now broken door. he goes back to look at scott. "is it safe now?"

then comes the part where they pull a couple of experiments to check if everything's alright now. namely, scott pressing his hand again on mitch's pants -not a sound in reply-, and then darting below the waistband to get an actual hold of his dick. mitch is shaken enough to have considerably soften by now, so there's only a small sound escaping from his throat when scott touches him, but again, there's no rustle around them.

on the bright side, mitch has just learnt that supernatural activity is actually a huge turn-off for him. so scratch that off the list.

after some vague spoken clues, mitch tries his luck with a hand firmly running along the front of scott's jeans - with the same hand where the new ring is proudly glinting, lmao -, but the silence still stretches awkward around him. the feeling of success is enough that scott doesn't even look offended when mitch pulls back immediately.

"holy fuck? it's gone!", mitch says, face breaking into what it feels the biggest he's ever smiled in his entire life. scott beams just as strongly in response, and his head falls back to the wall.

"okay, werk", it's his eloquent reply.

mitch swings his trembling leg over scott's lap to get off him, wiggling in the bed to sit right beside him. for a second, mitch really takes in how happy and just _grateful_ he is that this worked out. like, he wouldn't have really minded if scott got him off, but the triumphant feeling of having their house ghost-cleansed leaves little space for post-sex awkwardness. and that's just adds to the overall victory.

"if we'd knew that touching your dick would literally solve all of this", scott says, tone tainted in disbelief. "shit, we would've been over this _so _fast."

mitch gathers an embarrassing amount of physical strength to shrug. "my penis is just that powerful, sweetheart."

what does post almost-coital, finally ghost-free life look like for them?

scott goes out for the entire day and comes back unshowered and stinking of sex. mitch doesn't ask for explanations and just throws him a sly smile and the one pillow on the couch that is not covering or covered by his body at the moment.

mitch moves in scott's room for a couple of days, and he thoroughly enjoys cuddling his best friend without the pressure of luring a raging, dead creature into thinking this is anything more than platonic. two repair-people come in at midday right when mitch is _really _starting to miss the solitude of his bedroom, and they don't raise a single eyebrow at mitch's badly planned story about reckless teenagers and a big stone thrown from the street, i think.

they return the big diamond ring to the store some days later. behind the counter, the same guy from the other day pretends to be sad for the little missus, and this time mitch laughs out loud at his face. scott then utilizes a small fraction of the money to stop by at chick-fil-a, and mitch enjoys fully-single life again.

date with instagram guy doesn't go so well, but some weeks later he comments under the picture of a guy that he remembers from twitter. and this looks like it could be a step in the right direction, finally.

him and scott record a superfruit video completely unrelated to their ghost shenanigans, and mitch loses his shit when he finds out that scott has invited the _fucking _physic twins for an upcoming episode.

"just to be completely sure", he says, and mitch is not even sure if he's joking or not.

mitch makes it completely clear that contacting a medium was the option right between dying or moving, and in retaliation, now scott is the one who can't tell if he's serious or not.

(and if their new normalcy seems to much like the normalcy they've always had, it's because this is _exactly_ who they are.)


	23. day twenty-three: ancient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOW was this hard. i always try to make the word either central or related to the central concept of the plot of each drabble... but this was such a challenge. but anyways, adding up to the characters and relationships tags with this one!
> 
> gen, austin/mitch, set in april 2020.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it doesn't take long for mitch to figure out it's a head stand, and the little sounds he'd been making in anticipation fade out. a facade falling apart. austin twists his fingers and waits._
> 
> _"got it a long time ago", he suddenly feels like filling the silence. "an ancient thing i had on the closet."_
> 
> tags: brief mention of off-screen eating disorders near the beginning.

austin feels only a little paranoid when he pulls up at mitch's house, but the rearview mirror shows him an empty lane, grazed by the greenery of the trees blossoming on spring. it's only been advised to stay at home at all hours, so be figures he should be okay either way. he pinches the bridge of his nose, right where his mask is, and takes his phone from when he threw it on the console to send mitch a text.

(12:09pm)_ i'm right here girl_

he opens the car door unceremoniously, circling quickly around the vehicle to put his hands on the trunk. get this over and done with. it's quite obvious why he feels so anxious under the midday sun, a beautiful day in LA darkened by the blatant ausence of people on the streets. right now, even the thought of getting into mitch's house is setting him off. he can only guess that mitch has taken enough precautions, and he's been at home for the most part, except. except for the time that he _wasn't, _and it was never supposed to be a secret. the story was there, public and straight to the point, for anyone to see it. had it been any other situation, and austin might have even been glad that they had finished things off in the right way, but stressed as everything is lately, his stomach feels tight and coiled when he glances at the front door.

whatever, he thinks to himself, giving a mental kick to the string of insecurities that had followed him all the way from his own house. if anything, he's got thick skin. it's gotta take more than a pandemic to finish him off.

he grasps the camera in one hand and tugs the suitcase with the other, and then the front door opens. mitch squints at the sun, his mouth drawn in an expression that austin can only guess is a smile. he jerks his chin at him, his own smile useless as it's hid under the mask.

"hey", mitch replies. "need any help?"

"yeah, take this for me?" - fuck, speaking with the mask on is still an unbearable task - and austin extends the hand with the camera. no mask, he notes, but it should be okay. mitch doesn't look sick. not worn-out, either. his body is still slim, but not dangerously as it had been years ago. his demeanor is casual. he's the mitch that he knows.

the trunk door slamming as it closes is the last sound that echoes on the empty street before he follows mitch into the house. the interior is clean, and judging by yesterday's facetime call, he probably tidied it up on the morning. waking up before 12, that's good, austin gets to think before mitch turns around.

"everything alright?"

"yeah, no problems on the way here."

"sick."

he sets the camera down on the counter, and austin hops on one of the stools and hooks the heel of his boot on the footrest. there's dampness in mitch's hair, now that he can see it without the sunlight. he smells vaguely like those expensive oils he'd mentioned to him earlier this week.

it's not a surprise, austin grimaces as he mentally kicks himself again, and peels off the mask from his face. mitch likes to be groomed, and can and will get on his best shape when the situation requires it.

almost as if he's reading his mind, mitch circles around the kitchen island and says, "got a shower in the morning, by the way. so i'm no longer a stinky bitch."

"fantastic", austin says, busying himself with the camera. he doesn't want to make this awkward, but he can't help the way he hunches around the object like he's hiding something. he's _not, _he's just... worried.

mitch drops his nails on the handle of the suitcase. "will you show me what's in there?"

there's a grin on his face, a fainter smile on his tone. austin smiles back, and it's mostly a reflex, but he would be lying if he'd told himself that this didn't took down the tension by a notch. throw himself into his work, that's something he's good at. he hops off the stool and makes his way to the suitcase.

"did you wash your hands first?", mitch teases when he gets there.

austin didn't, so he makes a quick stop by the guest's bathroom. plenty of time to breathe in and brush away the wrinkles that had settled between his brows for the last twenty minutes.

when he comes back, mitch is scrolling absently through his phone. austin takes the chance to really look at him this time: he looks fine. he's showered, he's cleaned the place, he woke up early today. the faint shadows under his eyes look reasonable, his body language is casual and relaxed.

he looks because he knows he's not supposed to talk. after years of knowing mitch, he knows better than to force a conversation that he isn't even sure will get on the issue. mitch wears his heart on his sleeve, but keeps the details to himself.

the clac of his heels on the wooden floor becomes more deliberate, and mitch raises his gaze from the tiny screen.

"put it on the sofa", austin instructions, because they still have work to do.

they spend the next ten minutes going through the clothes austin has picked for the shootings: a bunch of sheer shirts, silk and leather pants. austin can see the boxes mitch had ordered during the week, stocked awkwardly on one of the corners of the room like they're begging to be taken somewhere else, but mitch is calm and patient while austin guides him through his ideas. it's only half past midday, so they have plenty of time to set things up: the location, the lighting. maybe even eat something along the way, so austin can check if he's still cooking for himself. if there's food on the fridge. not that he will say anything about it, but it's good to know, to keep an eye on him.

the patience mitch had shown for the better part of their first encounter finally breaks, five minutes after he's accidentally brushed his fingers on the black trash bag thrown at the bottom of the suitcase.

"gonna let me see that one?", he says in that tone that wavers between teasing and downright hostility. austin has played this game before, so he smirks at the bag.

"okay", he concedes. "as a treat."

even then, mitch takes it out slowly, weighting it on his hands with careful hands. "i'm excited", he says in the beginning of a laugh, which has austin baring his teeth on what it must be the real first smile that he's shown since he arrived here.

"c'mon, open it", he urges, because he's suddenly hyper aware of the sweat sticking to the palms of his hands. it's a piece he's proud of.

it doesn't take long for mitch to figure out it's a head stand, and the little sounds he'd been making in anticipation fade out. a facade falling apart. austin twists his fingers and waits.

"got it a long time ago", he suddenly feels like filling the silence. "an ancient thing i had on the closet."

mitch avoids making any sounds beyond unfolding the trash bag out of the way, so the wig stands in all its glory. dark and long, a chocolate brown that reminded austin too much of mitch's color to ignore it any longer. he doesn't even let kelly play with it at home - but this is a special occasion.

with mitch's back turned at him as he assesses the head stand on his hands, austin can't get a good look at his reaction. the silence, though, it's a decent hint of what might be going on. it's characteristic of mitch, and austin has gotten to see this even more during the last few weeks: that's how he gets when he's focused, inspired. having mitch finally kick off his solo project a couple of weeks into their stay-at-home orders felt too much like following the masses' cries about how this was a time for creativity and projects that have been put on the waitlist - bus austin knows this is more. it's almost scary in a way, to see something mitch should be passionate about turning into a coping mechanism in times where most of the things established in his life were suddenly falling apart. or so he'd thought, and the less believable it felt as time went by, because mitch kept himself steady. proved him wrong time and time again, and it's like austin should've _known _that it was always meant to be this way: art was everything to mitch. and he got to be a part of all of it.

now that he sees mitch's fingers dragging slowly through the strands of the dark-haired wig in a touch brimming with devotion, he's never felt more thankful about it.

it's an instinct, and austin isn't the kind of guy who usually fall for those, but he takes one step closer to his friend and drops his chin on the soft cotton of mitch's shirt, right over his shoulder. a clumsy movement, because the anxiety and embarrassment still cling to his body even when he knows everything's alright now. it's as far as he will get from a real conversation, a hug that mitch might need but will probably never ask. it's very possible that his beard is tickling mitch's neck, but mitch stays still, taking a deep breath as he slightly turns his head towards his friend.

"wow", he says, voice almost stripped from all the mannerisms that have become automatic on his speech. "this is beautiful."

austin hums in response and nudges him with a shoulder on the highest part of his back. the oils must absolutely reek when they're stored as they are, but they mesh well in mitch's skin.

"i think this is the one", mitch announces a couple of seconds later, tone just as serious.

austin feels his eyes crinkle as he grins in mitch's shoulder. "i think so, too."

if he rubs his cheek on mitch's neck just a little when he retreats, mitch either doesn't notice or doesn't care. pulling away rewards him with a full sight of his tight-lipped smile, hiding all the joy and eagerness that austin had missed from all the weeks he had spent without visiting him. _mitch will be fine, _he tells himself in his head, and this time it feels less like self-reassurance and more like something he simply has to believe in because it's the truth.

"should i try it on?", mitch breaks in. an eyebrow up, tone controlled and just a little cheeky. the mitch he knows.

austin starts leading the way to the closet room. "oh, fuck yes."


	24. day twenty-four: dizzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when i started writing these i was like, having fun. it was _fun_ to think about a random prompt to be filled in with a particular word as the star of the show, and i enjoyed it even more when i saw the opportunity to write the stories that had been living in my head for a while but never had enough inspiration to fully flesh out. and then october ended, and i felt compelled to own up to my failure: to improve on my writing and truly show that i hadn't skipped inktober in vain. but the other day i was thinking, how do i pretend to actually finish these before october comes, if i keep forcing me to really think about these? and defeat the entire point of the prompts? and i smacked myself in the head and told myself, nah nah, these are gonna come fast because there's no other way i'm getting this done. and i WANT to. and i've written things that i'm really proud of - things that i hate, too. but this is what writing is, and i enjoyed it at the beginning and i forgot why. so like, fuck me trying to make each prompt world-stoppingly good, blah blah blah. here you have this uncoordinated mess, coming from uncoordinated me :D
> 
> gen, ot5, set in the msg show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and then, there it is. they all feel dizzy._

twenty minutes before the show starts, the five of them are overwhelmed with the same emotion.

there's no way to know it, to communicate it with each other: there are too many people around them, members of the crew sneaking handshakes and quick hugs, words of encouragement being swallowed by the preface of what's about to happen. the people with their flashy smiles and flashier cameras, signaling them to pose in front of the name of the venue - and _what a name, _comes as a passing thought in a couple of their heads.

it truly doesn't bloom until they're all standing side by side, all decked on their outfits and makeup with the loud shutter of an expensive camera going off. it's been buried by an avalanche of other feelings and the butterflies on their stomachs, and the quiet, rare moments that each one of them have used to take all of this in. their success, taking its most physical form in the place directly under their feet. it's almost a relief when they're directed to take some pictures. better than keep pacing in each other's dressing rooms, nervous and excited and terrified in the best way. this is the moment where they get to relax, do nothing but follow a few instructions. strike a red carpet pose, try not to close their eyes at the flash.

and then, there it is. they all feel dizzy.

not enough to be lightheaded, or to transform the nerves settled in a knot at the beginning of their stomachs into an nauseating ache. but dizzy enough that matt's arm keeps trying to sneak a hold at the nearest shoulder, the closest surface; that kirstie feels just the tiniest bit unsafe on her high heels; that the hand that scott drop on mitch's shoulder is in equal parts a friendly reflex and a way to ensure that he stays on both of his feet; that mitch makes a real effort to cut down on the sway of his stance, after too many times of dangerously darting to one side; that kevin blinks repeatedly to keep his senses awake, forcing himself to maintain the struggle away from his expression.

feeling a little blinded by the lights, that's so cliché, scott thinks.

this is absolutely nuts. i can't believe this is what my life has come to, matt thinks.

i feel invincible, but at the same time, it's like i won't be able to get through it all, kirstie thinks.

holy shit holy shit holy fucking shit, wow, mitch thinks.

thank you, lord, kevin thinks.

there's, maybe, a moment where they all realize it. when a male voice from behind the cameras gives them the green light, and some of them break down in uncoordinated laughs, breathless and shaky. kevin takes a wide turn and almost steps on mitch's boot, and kirstie laughs and throws an elbow back and against matt's side. but it's a fast one, not enough to give them time to think and realize before they wrap their arms around each other.

the cameras catch them like that, too: a tight circle a bit to the side, arms linked with each other, heads joined together in the middle. the video can't capture their voices: it's just some fleeting words, some last attempts at encouragement that are forgotten as soon as they come out of their mouths. what's not lost is the contact, the moment of quiet that they get as they make the room small and cozy between their bodies. painted nails and tattooes and dark skin, all a reminder of how crazy it is that they all found each other, that they got here in the end - and that there's still so much more to come.

mitch knocks her head gently against kirstie's, and scott returns matt's beaming smile with the start of tears on his eyes, and the contact is more than enough to ground them: it erases the last bits of doubt napping on their brains, remind them of the task they're about to complete. there's no dizziness after they separate. scott leads the way to the stage, and kirstie stands confident on her boots, and mitch struts a little because he's finally having fun, and matt keeps turning around to take a good look at everything, and kevin's face relaxes on a happy grin as he receives the last high fives before the show starts.

the rest of the night goes in a blur of muscle memory, tight hugs with sweaty clothes, the high of the screams around them and the brief seconds where they yet again take in where they are right now. it's easy for some moments to go unnoticed in such a big night, but the ride in the bus to the hotel catches them with a single image silently shared in their heads: five heads leaning in a tight circle, arms and hands locked around each other.


	25. day twenty-five: tasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, avi&kirstie. set on late 2016.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"woah, this is_ tasty, _isn't it?"_  
_  
"i'm thinking about leaving the band."_

it's a sunny tuesday when kirstie hops along avi's little trip in bangkok to find the best roasted beef of the city. it's a thing that he notices right when they land on thailand, because he's trying to focus on the things around him. the texture of the seat below his fingers. the smell of the leather from his jacket, kevin's perfume where he's sitting next to him. the clear, blue sky above him. he hangs onto the sensations, then into a smile that feels just a tiny bit fragile as they step off the plane and follow their airport routine in yet a new country. as usual, the smile is enough, and after that it gets easier to breathe, to talk with the others.

going around places with kirstie, that's something he hasn't done in a while.

if he thinks too hard about it - which he won't - he'll find the guilt that he's been desperately trying to burn for the last two years. her eyes aren't gentle, which would be the worst case scenario: they're curious, sparkling with interest as he lays the invitation as casual as he can.

"sure", she says, fingers stilled over the screen of her unlocked phone, waiting for her attention that it will get as soon as she gives avi her response. "i'll meet y'all there! at twelve?"

and avi doesn't quite sigh, but it's a dang close thing.

and so tuesday is bright, and warm, and esther links an arm in his when they hop off the uber, and kirstie makes small talk while they order the food at the place. and so this is _okay. _except that when avi sits down in an empty table except for a bored kirstie scrolling down her phone while picking the meat apart with her fork, his heart is beating in a way that doesn't feel safe at all.

kirstie raises her gaze from the screen, eyes crinkling around a mouthful of the food.

"woah, this is _tasty, _isn't it?"

"i'm thinking about leaving the band."

to her credit, she doesn't choke on her food. nor anything close to it, really. she blinks a couple times, then drops her eyes down and to the left. she munches slowly while avi drinks on the peaceful sounds of the ambience - a faint pop song on the radio, the clacking and clashing of pots and glasses, conversations carried in languages he doesn't understand - and a small frown tugs her eyebrows together.

to avi's credit, his heart does slow a little, although he starts marking a demented rhythm with his foot under the table.

kirstie swallows and sets her phone face down on the table. "you want to leave?"

_i just said it,_ thinks avi, a little desperate. it's been hard to fully form this sentence in his head. there's so many things stopping him from visualizing the words, what it _means _for his career - for the other guys' careers. there's a gentler side on him pushing himself to be fair to his own feelings, tangled on a lifetime-long fight with his guilt and anxiety.

she's still looking at him, and it has been a long second - so he nods.

kirstie's face contorts in what avi knows is her practiced sad expression. not one she really feels, from his experience. it... doesn't anger him, but something desperate is bubbling again on his chest. he doesn't want fake pity, doesn't want to be told that they can work this out. he's been telling himself enough: three years, and he's still there. he's not sure he can handle other three years. or two. or one.

"this is the first time i've ever told, uh. any of you guys", he adds, because it may help.

her hand has been placed on top of her cellphone for a while, like she's just waiting the moment to pick it right back up, but she lets it go for real this time. she draws in a long breath, shifting on her seat and bringing her hands below her chin. in one second, the frown has less confusion in it; more of uncertainty, or helplessness. but not pity, and avi will take every small victory.

some feet away from them, a pot bounces in one of the counters.

"for how long?", she says. "i mean, how long have you been thinking about this."

there's barely any time or hesitation on his answer. "a year. but i, ah, i've been having... _problems, _for a while now."

he'd been raw, back then. a bit too reckless. he'd tell her the year, but it's an avalanche of the things they never really talk about because that's how it has always been, and he's not ready for the kind of guilt that doesn't come from wanting to do things for himself, but for the horrible things he's done in the past. he can't blame those things on the said problems, he knows that. and maybe, just maybe, he'll be in a spot to offer her a real apology - not a random invitation to play the tourist in tour, which was never supposed to be more than a white flag. but today is not the day.

maybe, just maybe, kirstie guesses what she's talking about. her eyes widen for a split of a second, enough to rile avi's pulse back where it was some moments ago, but her expression remains cautious. she stares down at her plate just so her eyelashes can hide the color of her eyes.

"okay", she says.

avi feels his own nails dragging across the wooden table, but it's a distant sensation, blurred by the swelling on his throat. "okay?", he repeats. it's almost asshole-ish, but he _needs_ a real response right now. he won't know what to make out of a single syllable.

"well", and her tone shifts, coming out just a little bit louder: she's on the defensive side now. "not _okay, _for you. but it's- it's doable, right? we can arrange everything, so you can... so you can _leave, _and we can look after the band. if that's what you're worried about."

it _is _\- but it's not the response that he wants. he almost throws himself on the back of the chair, rude and rough like a stubborn kid who's just got told no. but kirstie doesn't deserve this. avi has had these words stuck on his throat and hand for months: kirstie is only hearing them right now.

"i know", is what he offers. he sets his eyes on her face in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. "i know. thank you."

one of kirstie's hands comes down after a little hesitation. for a second, avi thinks - fears, wants - that it'll land on top of his, but then she picks at a napkin, rips apart a tiny bit on the corner. it takes a lot of effort for avi not to sigh in front of her.

"is it because of your family?", she says, eyes just a little bit kind.

it _is _one of the reasons, and it's the easiest one for kirstie to emphatize with. he looks at the destroyed napkin, then the ring glinting on her finger. her mom in texas, just a decent drive away when she's home, but miles and miles away while they work. and even when he gets home, it barely feels like a break. it's tiring, exhausting in a way he never wanted this to become. this _isn't _what this job was supposed to be.

"yes", and so it's not a lie.

"dang it", she murmurs as if only to herself. she rips another piece of the napkin. "i'm sorry, avi."

it's a nice sentiment, and it's a good answer, but avi can't help but feel like he doesn't deserve any of this. her sympathy, her kindness. he's the one who fucked things up between them: he should be the one to apologize.

making promises is not a thing he's been historically keen on doing, but it feels real when he tells himself that he'll make amends with her before he leaves the band. he has to. it's the least he could do.

he sighs, leaning his head to the other side. "it's not your fault - none of you guys' fault."

a murmur fills the space stretching across them, and the hand retreats to pick the fork again. the bite is less enthusiastic this time, and avi adds it to the mix of ambience sounds surrounding his face, until louder sounds come around, and the crew reappears from the hallway leading to the bathrooms to bring their energy into the table. kirstie's smile is easy around them; contagious even, avi finds out as he catches himself returning the quips with light comments and soft chuckles. it doesn't go for too long after that, as they need to make their way back to the hotel and then the venue, so they call another uber. his eyes still flicker to kirstie every once in a while: it wasn't exactly liberating to share the secret for the first time. but that only means it can only go upwards from now on, and avi will take whatever he gets. it's a good day, after all. sunny and clear, with trees framing the empty sidewalk as they step out.

avi drags himself first once the car stands in the driveway, and is only midly surprised when kirstie slides right after him. the smile on her face is wide and relaxed, so much that it makes avi wonder if he just imagined that conversation. but then things start to derail out of the ordinary when kirstie turns her head at him and pushes her phone in his hands.

"did you see the picture? like, twenty people have tagged me- _us_ on it already."

it's a funny shot of avi from a couple nights ago: the angle makes his legs look longer than usual, and his hair bounces in an unflattering way for the camera phone. still, it's such a surprising situation that it gets a laugh out of him, and then nicole snatches the phone to show it to esther, and the car is already on its way.

avi looks at kirstie's thigh pressed right against his knee - and almost jumps on the seat when he feels her voice closer to her ear.

"why me?"

a glance lets him know that she has, effectively, gotten closer to him to whisper in the beat that it takes for the rest of the crew to laugh at the picture. she has slid right out of her mask, and her face is serious if not a bit solemn. the same glint of curiosity has made its way back to her eyes, and avi tries to look for an answer.

what could he even tell her? this wasn't planned at all. he wasn't mean to talk about this for a while, at least while the tour was still going on, and in his head he'd pictured that kevin would be the first to find out. but that's not a satisfactory answer, and not one he would like kirstie to hear. he's never been good at telling the truth as it is, and she has caught him on a vulnerable state. which, he discovers, he doesn't really mind. avi knows she'll be quiet about this: back on the day, he'd trusted her a million things. it's one of the things he missed the most about their friendship, right before - right before everything went down between them.

he thinks about it, right now, and a wave of peace runs down his body, soothing his nerves in a way he hasn't felt in a long time. there's a smile on his lips, now: gentler, sincere. hers.

"i trust you", he says. sometimes, the truth is simple like that.

it doesn't erase all the confusion in kirstie's face: there's still traces of it on her thin-lipped smile, and then on the way her eyes yet again drift to the side. but avi knows some things just need some time: if someone told him back on 2014 that this will be them now, sitting close together in a car with their friends on the way back from a successful get together, he'd find it impossible to picture it on his mind. and so she'll think about it, and she'll have the necessary realization. as of now, avi treasures that smile on his heart, the laughs of his friends, the taste of a good meal and a full stomach.

it's easier to breathe, after that lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanna know something cool? i started writing this with the tuesday mentioned and just named whatever country, firmly thinking "i don't even care if the dates don't line up because i'm just gonna get this thing over and done with, periodddd" but then i was like, okay, it never hurts to check - not like anyone will care, right? and so i checked, and turns out september the 13th in 2016 _actually_ falls on a tuesday, which was absolutely nuts!!!! and so i finally fucking finished this prompt, and hopefully i'll finish the next five? six? in the next three weeks. so. wish me LUCK.


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